Evigilantes a Dormientes Draco
by mochiTheCat
Summary: Draco is a Prince among Pure-bloods, but at Hogwarts, he's just another student. In his efforts to establish superiority, three people in particular challenge the foundations on which he was raised, and he finds himself inexplicably drawn to them. Evigilantes a Dormientes Draco, or Waking a Sleeping Dragon, explores how these encounters change Draco's life.
1. Part 1

The school was frantic after the Heir of Slytherin's last attack; its victims: Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw Prefect, and Hermione Granger, the smartest and most irritating girl in Draco's year. Draco was pleased when he learned that these two attacks led to the suspension of their Headmaster – an order which had been spearheaded by his own father. With all the scrutiny their family was facing from the Ministry, it was critical that the Malfoys presented themselves in a way that garnered confidence from the general public. Draco was also pleased with Hermione being out of commission for lessons; not only would classes be quieter, but teachers would now have the opportunity to see how smart and capable _he_ was, rather than just how much information Hermione could store in her brain. At one point, Draco even suggested their Head of House, Severus Snape, apply to be the new Headmaster. He was one of the only professors who treated Draco with the propriety his family name demanded – plus he apparently hated the same people Draco hated – namely Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, _and_ Hermione, which meant Draco could easily rise to the top of his year with as little effort as possible.

But as time passed, things did not go as Draco had planned: teachers _didn't_ notice how clever he was, and worse, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had received Special Awards for Services to the School, and had won enough points to win Gryffindor the House Cup – _again_. Upon arriving home for the summer holiday, he learned that not only had they lost their family house-elf, Dobby, but his father had been dismissed as a school governor.

"Do you really expect _me_ to do the chores a _house-elf_ did before Lucius?" Draco's mother, Narcissa, exclaimed indignantly. The Malfoy Manor was a mess after the Ministry's raid, and Draco's parents hadn't even begun to reorganize their things.

"Well we can't hire a maid with our affairs laid bare for the whole world to see, now can we, Narcissa? Humans aren't bound to their masters like elves are and we can't be too cautious right now."

Draco stood at the end of the dining hall, staring at his parents; all their best China had been laid out, all their fine silver, and crystal. His mother looked worn and tired, his father tense and irritated. "Does this mean... I have to clean my own room," he wondered out loud. His father looked up at him with cold gray-eyes normally reserved for those he held in disregard.

"I would think, with the upbringing you received, you would know when to hold your tongue – especially when you have nothing of worth to say."

Narcissa got to her feet. "Lucius you will not antagonize our son," she chided. She turned to Draco and gave him a strained smile. "Of course not dearest, but we will need some time to figure things out. Perhaps you would like to spend the summer with your friends? To take your mind off things?"

"No," Lucius said quickly. "Draco will stay here. We don't need the other families knowing. You may have whatever books or games you want, son, but you will stay home for the summer."

This was just as well since Draco didn't have any friends he would want to spend an entire summer with – though he wasn't beyond boasting to them about all the things his parents bought him.

A dull summer led into what promised to be another dull year at Hogwarts. There was a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, of course – some shabby-looking chap Draco imagined the Headmaster had found in a ditch, and the monster of a groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, had been appointed the new Care of Magical Creatures professor. Draco had a distinct dislike for Hagrid mostly because Hagrid was so fond of Harry Potter and his clique.

As Draco had suspected, Hagrid was a terrible teacher. It was bad enough Slytherin had Care of Magical Creatures alongside Gryffindor, but having this inexperienced oaf as their professor was a joke. Draco had planned on making the class as unbearable as possible for the new professor, but things took a turn when he accidentally insulted the Hippogriff, Buckbeak. They had gotten along well enough for Buckbeak to submit to him, but he didn't like being called an "ugly great brute". Draco hadn't meant it, to be honest; he didn't know _why_ he said it either when he found Buckbeak to be quite handsome with his air of dignity and haughty eyes. He wasn't very proud of what happened next: he screamed – like a banshee – when Buckbeak attacked him. But Draco had never really seen blood before, never mind his own.

He became somewhat of a hero in his House after the Hippogriff incident. Many parents of the other Slytherin students thought Hagrid was grossly unqualified to be a professor and were beside themselves when they had learned what happened to Draco. Backed by these concerned parents, Draco's father had brought the matter to the Ministry, and while they were unsuccessful at getting Hagrid sacked, the Hippogriff would certainly be disposed of. This wasn't what Draco wanted, but how could he go against his entire House – or his parents. Shutting out his feelings of guilt, he basked in all the shallow attention he received: girls fawned over him, boys clapped him on the back, seniors nodded with approval, juniors idolized him. It was great, really, so why didn't Draco _feel_ great?

Soon Draco found himself seeking retreat, away from the crowds, away from the noise, somewhere he could have peace. First, these spots were old classrooms and empty hallways, then he found a quiet spot in the library in a section no one was sure to visit. One afternoon, when he was taking a nap in his new spot, a loud noise woke him up. He was tempted to ignore it, but something inside him worried that it might be someone he knew, and so, with a sigh, he opened his eyes and looked disdainfully in the direction of the sound. It was Hermione Granger, holding more books than she likely weighed. For a moment, they just stared at each other, then Draco opened his mouth to say something rude – it was probably what she was expecting anyway, but before he could even utter a word, Hermione grabbed the top book on her pile and drew it back, like she was going to throw it at him.

"Say one word you insolent, self-absorbed, vile insect and I'll break your skull open."

Draco shut his mouth.

Of course she hated him; he had done just about everything in his power to _make_ her hate him in their past two years at Hogwarts, but he had never seen her _this_ angry. As he watched her pick up the books she had dropped, he noticed a theme.

"These are for – "

A book flew past his head with dangerous accuracy. "I said, _not one word_."

"Hey, I – "

Another book hurtled toward his head; he caught this one, but Hermione threw three more. "Stop!" he shouted between each book. "Granger – St – I said – WAIT!"

"Who's fault do you think it is!?" she shouted in return, her eyes brimming with tears. "Why do you have to be so insufferable!?"

Draco stood frozen on the spot. No one had ever spoken to him like that before – yes, he'd been insulted before, humiliated even, but this was very different. He couldn't care less what a witch of tainted lineage thought of him, and yet, he couldn't muster an ounce of disgust or hatred to retaliate. Just then, Madam Pince, the librarian, came around – likely drawn by the raucous Hermione was causing – and at first, her eyes widened with surprise to find Hermione Granger, book worshipper, in a mess of her beloved tomes. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"She fell," Draco blurted out without thinking. "Granger. She tripped and fell."

Madam Pince fixed Draco with her piercing gaze, then studied the scene again. Finally, with a huff, she said, "Do be more careful in the future Miss Granger," and walked away.

When the sound of the librarian's footsteps disappeared, Draco exhaled. Then he knelt down to help Hermione gather the books.

"Don't touch my things," she snapped, grabbing the book Draco had reached for.

"Fine!" Draco snapped back. "I was only trying to help."

"Help? What do you care?"

"I don't!" Draco got to his feet and glared at Hermione. "I don't care about you or that lumbering oaf, Hagrid, or the stupid trial. I don't care about Buckbeak getting exe – " Draco choked on the word. "Executed," he repeated, steeling his gaze. "I don't care about any of it." Without a second look, Draco stalked off, leaving Hermione with her books.

Despite Hermione's efforts, Hagrid would lose the trial, and though he requested an appeal, Draco knew he would lose that too. The giant was so distraught over the news, he spent most of his lessons moping. Draco found his behaviour appalling; Buckbeak was such a magnificent creature – yes, it was a shame he was going to be killed – but that was unavoidable now. The least Hagrid could do was hold himself together, carry himself with as much dignity as the Hippogriff had; Buckbeak deserved a master who could face his death with his head held high.

"Look at him blubber!"

Draco looked over and saw Crabbe and Goyle pointing and sniggering. "Shut up," he said to them on reflex.

"What?" they said in return, perplexed.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had walked up to them, looking furious. Draco's eyes darted between his companions and the three who stood before him: in their eyes he saw the pride and determination he felt Buckbeak deserved.

Without thinking, he donned a snide expression. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic," he laughed. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"

Hermione closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye and slapped him so hard across the face, his vision went black momentarily. He thought Hermione had been angry before, in the library, but that was nothing compared to the contempt she had for him now. She raised her hand to hit him again but Ron stopped her. She threw him off and reached for her wand. Draco stepped back. He believed she would kill him on the spot – and he couldn't blame her. He held her gaze and almost wished she would strike him; for some reason, he felt that if it came from her, it would be okay. Time seemed to stop as he stared into those brown-eyes, and he found something within them that he had not anticipated – and it tugged on a part of him he had long locked away: compassion.

"C'mon," he muttered at last, turning away. With Crabbe and Goyle tottering after him, he made his way toward the dungeons.

Draco was quite relieved to focus on Slytherin's Quidditch match against Gryffindor; he needed something to get his mind off those brown eyes that haunted him. The Team Captain, Marcus Flint, had made a few changes, and basically instructed them to do whatever it took to win. This was right up Draco's alley in terms of strategy, and so, during the game, he made Harry Potter's life as difficult as possible. It delighted him further when he spotted the Snitch while everyone else was distracted watching Gryffindor take a penalty shot. He raced toward it, leagues ahead of Harry; he would get it first, he knew it, and when he did, he would win the Quidditch Cup. But luck did not favour Draco. Harry, on his bloody Firebolt, flew in from behind and grabbed the Snitch before Draco could wrap his fingers around it. The stadium erupted in cheering and applause. The Gryffindor Team was rapturous over their win. Spectators poured onto the field to congratulate the victors. The mob carried the winning team to claim their trophy, and fighting their way to Harry were Ron and Hermione, looking elated.

Draco looked back at his own team: Looking sullen and angry, no one shook hands or consoled each other. There was no praise nor gratitude for their efforts. Flint didn't even criticize or reprimand them. One by one, they dragged their heels back into the change room until Draco was the only one left, forgotten on the field, amidst the jubilation of Gryffindor's victory.

After that day, something changed in Draco: everything seemed pointless. He didn't even care that exams were around the corner, but he used that as an excuse to escape to his quiet corner of the library. One day, he arrived at his sanctuary to find a note left for him. Only one person came to mind as he ripped open the envelope. In neat hand-writing, it read:

 _Draco,  
_ _I apologize for hitting you – only because I don't like to resort to violence; not because you didn't deserve it.  
_ _Buckbeak's appeal has been set for the sixth, and you know it is your fault. If you feel any remorse – if you really want to help – I beseech you to ask your father to withdraw the charge._

Some might interpret a note left in secrecy as lacking in courage, but this was one of the bravest acts Draco had ever encountered. But did _he_ have the courage to do what she asked? Did he even want to? Did he have the courage to find out what he wanted?

On evening of the sixth of June, after his last exams were complete, Draco received word from his father that the appeal had taken place at two that afternoon, and that the execution would happen at sunset. This left Draco feeling empty inside. The curfew was still in effect, but Draco managed to slip out. There was some where he needed to be and he didn't care if he got caught. The sun had just set, and shadows stretched across the grass as he stepped out the main doors.

"Draco," a voice called out. He turned: it was Professor Snape. "Where do you think you're going?"

"My father's acquaintance is here," Draco lied – well, actually, not really. "Macnair. He works for the Ministry as an executioner in the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. I've been instructed to see him before he leaves."

Snape's expression revealed little, but he seemed to buy Draco's story. "I see," the professor drawled, looking bored. "Well make it quick and don't let the other teachers catch you." Professor Snape turned back toward the stairs; Draco continued onto the school grounds.

The Groundskeeper's hut wasn't far from the school's main building, but it was the longest walk Draco had ever taken. Several times he wanted to stop, to turn back, to hide in his room and forget all about it, but something else pressed him onward. Suddenly, a ginger-coloured cat dashed past him, and he could have sworn it was Hermione's cat (he'd seen it on the train before). Curious, he followed it, keeping to the shadows. Before long, the cat slowed its pace and lowered its body to the ground; it continued but with great stealth. Draco stood a distance away but could make out voices – bickering. The cat pounced on a large rat Draco recognized as Ron's. The red-haired boy suddenly appeared from nowhere, bursting out at full speed after the cat chasing his rat. Harry and Hermione appeared immediately after, a cloak streaming behind them as they ran after Ron.

The Groundskeeper's hut was in the other direction, so why was Draco running after three people he despised instead? He had no idea. But as he ran after them, he saw a large black dog appear and jump them, knocking Harry over the first time, and dragging Ron away the second. Then something more alarming caught his eye: the nearby Willow tree had started to move. It swung its massive branches at Harry and Hermione; one connected with Harry's face while another reached toward Hermione.

"Protego!" Draco shouted, drawing his wand and pointing it at the branch. The spell took the brunt of the hit, but the branch still managed to cut Hermione on the shoulder.

"Draco!" she cried, turning in his direction. He grabbed her around the shoulder and pushed her out of the way of another branch. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he shouted in return. They dodged another branch and ran to join Harry, who had moved beyond the tree's attack radius.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked after lighting his wand.

There was a loud crack, and the leg that Ron had hooked around the tree's roots in an effort to stop the dog pulling him further underground had disappeared.

"Ron!" Hermione screamed. "We – we've got to go for help," she cried, pleading with her eyes.

"No," Harry argued. "That thing's big enough to eat him, we haven't got time – "

"But we're never going to get through without help – "

"Potter's right," Draco found himself saying. "That monster could be devouring Weasley even as we speak. We need to move."

Harry glared at Draco. "We're not going anywhere with _you_ ," he spat. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"We don't have time, Potter!" Draco argued. He also didn't feel like explaining why he was out there. "Now how do we get past this thing?"

"If I knew, do you think I'd still be standing here talking with you?"

While they were arguing, Crookshanks appeared and darted forwards, manoeuvring between the battering branches until he reached the trunk. He placed his two front paws on a knot near the base of the trunk, and the tree stopped moving.

"Crookshanks," Hermione whispered uncertainly. "How did he know?"

"He's friends with that dog," Harry answered grimly. "I've seen them together." He motioned for Hermione to follow him, but stopped Draco with a hand. "You're not coming with us."

"You have no idea what you're up against down there."

"Either way I'll feel a lot better if I don't have to worry about you." Harry shoved Draco back a few steps, and Draco very much wanted to lunge forward and punch Harry in the face, but a loud "meow" brought their attention back to the tree. They turned just in time to see Crookshanks disappear between a gap in the roots. Draco ran after Harry and Hermione to the base of the trunk. Before sliding down the hole after the cat, Harry grabbed Draco by the shirt collar. "I can't stop you from following us, but if I think for even a moment you might harm us – "

"Yeah, yeah," Draco interrupted, breaking free from Harry's grasp. "You can kill me or whatever. Though I'm more afraid of Granger than you, Potter."

Draco's comment must have stunned Harry, because for a moment, he just stared at him. But he blinked and the moment was gone. "Wands out," Harry instructed before disappearing into the tunnel.


	2. Part 2

Harry must have really been in a hurry to let Draco bring up the rear. Oddly enough, it didn't occur even once to Draco to turn on them – or leave. They followed Crookshank's orange figure through the long twisting tunnel until it opened up to a dusty, very disordered room. They lifted their wands and saw that the wallpaper was in tatters, the windows were boarded up, and every single piece of furniture had been smashed to pieces.

"I think we're in the Shrieking Shack," Hermione whispered, looking terrified.

Now Draco wanted to run. The Shrieking Shack was rumored to be haunted, and while Draco had always found it fascinating during his daytime visits to Hogsmeade, he had absolutely no interest in exploring it at night – and certainly not while there was a ravenous dog wandering about. But there was something about Hermione's face that also made him want to stay.

"Ghosts didn't do that," Harry said slowly, indicating a mangled wooden chair; chunks had been ripped out, including a leg.

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. The three of them looked up at the ceiling. Hermione gripped Harry's arm as she inched closer to him. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she let go, nodding. As quietly as they could, they crept through the hall and up the staircase, following a wide dust-free stripe that had been made by something being dragged along the floor. Once they reached the dark landing, they extinguished their lights. Only one door was open and as they crept toward it, they heard a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring. Draco exchanged glances with the other two, and with a final nod, they gripped their wands and Harry kicked the door open.

Inside the room, they found Crookshanks sitting on a four-poster bed, quite similar to the ones he had at home, Draco thought, only this one was old and dusty. On the floor beside the bed was Ron, his leg stuck out at a strange angle, and he clutched at it, grimacing. Harry and Hermione ran to Ron's side, asking if he was okay.

"Where's the dog?" Harry asked his friend.

"Not a dog," Ron managed to say through gritted teeth. "Harry it's a trap – "

Draco realized too late that there was someone else in the room; as soon as he stepped past the threshold, a man emerged from the shadows and closed the door behind them. " _Expelliarmus!_ " he croaked, pointing Ron's wand at them. All three wands shot out of their hands and Sirius Black – the escaped prisoner from Azkaban, accused of murder – caught them.

Dark glimmering eyes behind a mass of filthy, matted hair regarded Draco with surprise and unmistakable disgust. Sirius raised Ron's wand again, though this time, only at Draco. " _Petrificus Totalus_." Draco felt his entire body stiffen and lock together; he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. Harry and Hermione were both too stunned for words.

"You can never be too careful," Sirius said lazily, as if he was telling Harry to look both ways before crossing a street. "But so like your father, placing trust in… despite our differences…" Sirius trailed off, sounding wistful. "Your father would have come to help me too."

"Don't you dare speak of my father!" Harry shouted. In his anger, he got to his feet and started forward, but Hermione and Ron grabbed him from either side.

"No, Harry," Hermione gasped in a petrified whisper.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us, too!" Ron shouted at Sirius. The effort of standing drained him of colour and he swayed as he spoke.

"Lie down," Sirius said quietly to Ron. "You will damage that leg even more."

Harry broke free of his friends and lunged at Black, but Black didn't even raise his arm in defense, never mind point his wand at his attacker. At first Black didn't even fight back as Harry pummelled him with his hands, but when Harry reached for the wand, he pushed back. Hermione joined the fray – even Ron, despite his broken leg. Draco heard the clatter of a wand sliding across the floor, followed by the meow of a cat; it was hard to tell what exactly was going on when you were frozen in one position on the ground. Eventually things quieted down aside from heavy breathing.

"Going to kill me, Harry?" Sirius whispered, his voice sounding hoarse.

"You killed my parents," Harry returned in a slightly shaky voice.

"I don't deny it," Sirius said, so quietly, Draco nearly didn't hear. "But if you knew the whole story – "

Harry flew into a rage, exclaiming how Black had sold his parents out to the Dark Lord, talking about his mother when she was killed… Things got quiet after that – it was like everyone was holding their breath. But then movement downstairs brought about a new sound.

"WE'RE UP HERE!" Hermione screamed suddenly. "WE'RE UP HERE – SIRIUS BLACK – QUICK!"

Footsteps thundered up the stairs and the door burst open in a shower of red sparks. Draco stared at Professor Lupin as he disarmed Harry of his wand, and Hermione of the other two she had likely won back during the fight. The professor's eyes quickly took in the scene: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Sirius Black, Crookshanks.

"Where is he, Sirius?" Professor Lupin asked, making no sense at all. It didn't help that Lupin then moved out of Draco's range of vision. There was some broken conversation about "He" and "Him" and "Unless…"

"P-professor?" Draco called out, trying to follow Lupin with his eyes.

"Quiet, Draco," Lupin hushed, clearly focused on something else.

Draco felt so stupid in that moment, he wished he'd never followed them there, wished he was in his bed, reading a book or having a cup of hot cocoa. His old hatred for Harry, Ron, and Hermione bubbled up as he struggled helplessly against his curse.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione suddenly screamed, bringing Draco back to the present. His entire body tingled as he fought to see what was happening.

"… I haven't been Sirius's friend for twelve years, but I am now … let me explain … " Lupin was saying. But Hermione wouldn't let him explain, she accused him of helping Black get into the school, and then, she called him a werewolf. Incidentally, Draco knew a werewolf, he was a friend of the family, and Professor Lupin looked nothing like the werewolf he knew, but Hermione was rarely ever wrong. She wasn't smartest witch in their year for nothing.

"You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met, Hermione," Professor Lupin complimented.

' _Thanks, professor,_ ' Draco thought to himself. ' _I just said that myself._ '

There was more shouting about things Draco didn't understand, and try though he may, he couldn't really piece together what was happening. Then, to his great surprise, he heard Professor Lupin say, "There. You're armed, we're not. Now will you listen?" A moment after, Draco was set free by Hermione, though he noted he did not get his wand back.

"The point is," Professor Lupin was saying, "even if you're wearing an Invisibility Cloak – "

"Invisibility Cloak?" Draco interrupted, looking bemused.

"Not now," Lupin waved him off again, looking eager to continue.

"Now wait a minute," Draco pressed. He hadn't liked being immobilized, and he didn't like not knowing what was going on, but he _hated_ being ignored. "Shouldn't we be arresting Black or calling for back-up or _something_?"

Before anyone could say or do anything, Black drew Draco's wand and cast another binding spell on him.

"Really now, Sirius," Lupin said. The other man merely shrugged.

"He's a Malfoy," he said, as if that were cause enough. "And," he added, "He's annoying."

This time, Hermione didn't undo Draco's curse, so he listened from the uncomfortable floor as the conversation continued.

Seemingly forgotten about, Draco learned how Sirius Black and Professor Remus Lupin had been school mates with Harry's father, James Potter. He learned how their other friend, Peter Pettigrew had betrayed them all, and gotten Harry's parents killed. There was some argument about Peter being Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, with Ron defending that Scabbers was just Scabbers. Draco wasn't sure why Ron was so defensive of such a useless pet anyway, but no one was paying him any attention anyhow. He learned that three of the four friends of old were unregistered Animagi, how they had learned this to be with Lupin when he changed into a werewolf every full moon. Apparently his transformations were the reason for the Shrieking Shack, the noise he made the cause of the legends that the old building was haunted.

Just when Draco thought he may as well take a nap right there on the floor, Professor Snape appeared – from out of nowhere! Well, now that Draco knew about the Invisibility Cloak, he was less surprised when people appeared from nowhere, casting off a shimmering cloak as they did. His Head of House cast him one very quick but clearly disappointed look, then moved in, his wand pointed at Professor Lupin's chest.

"Release him, Miss Granger," Snape instructed Hermione, nodding back at Draco. She complied, undoing his curse a second time. "And give him his wand back," Snape added. Walking very slowly, Hermione approached Black and took Draco's wand from him. Then she made her way very slowly to Draco and handed him his wand. She didn't say anything as she did, but her eyes pleaded with Draco when he looked at her. "Very good Miss Granger. Now get back over there with the others. Two more for Azkaban tonight," Snape sneered, his mouth twisting into a grin. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this … he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin … a tame werewolf … "

"You fool," said Lupin softly. "Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?"

BANG! Thin, snake-like cords burst from the end of Snape's wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists, and ankles; he over-balanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. Admittedly, Draco felt a surge of pleasure seeing someone else bound and on the ground for a change. He had half a mind to ignore Lupin the way Lupin had ignored him. Black started toward Snape.

"Give me a reason," Snape whispered, pointing his wand straight between Black's eyes. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

The room grew uncomfortably quiet except for the noise Scabbers was still making. Draco glanced at the other students: they were frozen, looking back and forth, not knowing what to do. His eyes locked with Hermione's for a moment, and a lump formed in his throat. "Professor," Draco squeaked. "Shouldn't we let the Ministry handle Sirius Black?"

"Yes Draco, you're quite right. I think I'll bring him to the Dementors, they'll be very pleased to see you, Black – pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay." What little colour was left in Sirius Black's face left it. "Perhaps they'll have a kiss for the werewolf too," he added, sneering at Professor Lupin. Professor Snape, who was typically composed and cold, had a mad sort of look about him that Draco had never seen before. "Draco," the professor said. "You bring the werewolf – drag him if you must. I'm not taking my eyes off Black until his soul has been extracted like a rotting tooth."

For a moment, Draco just stood there, looking from Harry to Ron to Hermione. He stepped forward – but to do what? Help Snape? Stop Snape and help the werewolf, convict, and his three arch enemies?

"Why don't I go and fetch the Dementors?" Draco suggested. He realized how stupid this sounded immediately after, but kept going anyway. "It's a long way to keep everyone in line, but if I get the Dementors and bring them here, then at least a couple of them will be dealt with." There was the obvious flaw that if Draco left, Snape would be losing his only ally in the room, but he didn't object – maybe because he thought himself capable of handling the situation alone, or maybe because he was high on his rage.

"Hurry up then," Snape said impatiently. "I can't guarantee I won't kill him myself before long."

"I'll umm just borrow this, Potter," Draco added, stooping to pick up the Invisibility Cloak. Harry stared daggers at him, but didn't say anything or move to stop him.

With one last look around the room, Draco threw the Cloak over his arm and disappeared down the stairs.


	3. Part 3

Draco ran back to the entrance of the tunnel and dove in head first. Then he stopped.

"What the hell am I doing?" he asked himself in a hushed whisper. He clasped his head in his hands; the Invisibility Cloak slipped off his arm and onto the ground. He stared at it.

He had three choices: He could go back through the tunnel and get help – another teacher, maybe Dumbledore. He'd even settle for Hagrid at that moment, though he wasn't sure what good he would be. He could also get the Dementors like he'd said he would, but he really didn't want to; he knew about Dementors – his Aunt Bellatrix was a prisoner at Azkaban after all. There was no guarantee the Dementors wouldn't harm him or Hermione or the others. His last choice was the worst: to go back to the room and help the others escape from Professor Snape, from Sirius Black, and get back to the school. It was the worst because it was also, by far, the hardest. Draco was willing to admit plans and strategies were not his forté, but even if they were, how could he possibly manage to save his friends from a convict and _two_ professors – one being a werewolf – alone?

"Wait a minute," Draco murmured to himself. Did he just refer to Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger as his _friends_? He shook his head of the thought; clearly the stress of the situation was getting to him.

Noise from the room upstairs drifted down into the tunnel, bringing Draco back to the urgency of the moment. He could hear Professor Snape shouting, though the only words he could make out were "YOU STUPID GIRL!" – and he really wished he hadn't, because at those words, Draco's body started to move on its own. He picked the Invisibility Cloak up off the ground and wrapped it around himself, then kicked off his shoes and turned back to the tunnel exit. Making as little noise as he possibly could, he crept back through the hall and up the stairs. With his wand raised, he took a deep breath…

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Except Draco's voice was not the only one that rang out – and his spell was not the only one to hit Professor Snape. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all cast the same spell at the same time as Draco, and the force had lifted Professor Snape off his feet and slammed him against a wall, leaving him in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Who's there?" Black called out. He must have noticed that a spell had been cast from behind Snape as well.

"It's just me," Draco said, letting the cloak slide to reveal his face.

"Draco," Hermione breathed.

"Don't you ever touch my cloak again, Malfoy," Harry chided, walking over and snatching it away.

"Um _you're welcome_?" Draco remarked, giving Harry a sardonic look.

"For what?" Harry replied, looking equally derisive.

"I think I just saved your sorry – "

Harry snorted loudly. "We had things under control Malfoy. Feel free to run away like the coward that you – "

"Stop it!" Hermione yelled over the arguing. "There are more serious matters at hand. We just attacked a teacher. _A teacher!_ "

"Hermione is right," Lupin said, getting to his feet. Black had freed him from his bonds. "There _are_ more serious matters at hand. Sirius, it's time we did what we came here to do." He and Black looked at Ron.

"You, boy – give me Peter. Now."

Ron clutched his pet rat to his chest, looking at Harry and Hermione for support. "What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?"

"Force him to show himself," said Lupin. "If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him."

Ron hesitated, then, at long last held out Scabbers and Lupin took him. The rat began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head. Together, Lupin and Black – who had taken Snape's wand which had landed on the four-poster bed after the four disarming spells – pointed wands at the rat. Blue-white light erupted and the rat morphed into a very short, grubby-looking man. "Well, hello, Peter," Lupin said pleasantly. His words were kind, his demeanour calm, but Draco had never been more afraid of someone before. "And good-bye."

"Wait!" Peter cried, falling to his knees. "Remus, Sirius, _please_."

"Silence!" Sirius commanded. "You dare plead for your life after what you've done? After what you've put us through? No. Twelve years I have waited to kill you, and I will not wait a moment more."

"Wait!" This time it was Hermione. "If you kill him, then you'll be thrown back into Azkaban." Black glared at Hermione, his hand twitching, but he did not strike. Hermione took this as permission to continue. "But if you bring him back to the school and to Dumbledore, then your name will be cleared and Scab – er Peter will go to prison."

Black mulled over her words for half a moment. "Well," he said in a dull tone. "I'd much rather him dead."

Peter Pettigrew let out a high pitched yelp as he glanced at the others present. "M-Master," he said to Ron, crawling toward him on all fours. But Ron was still too shocked to do much more than stare. Draco supposed that if he had been the one to discover he'd been keeping a mid-thirty year-old man as a house pet, he'd be in a fair amount of shock as well.

To his surprise, Peter turned to Draco. "You," he said, a smile spreading across his pudgy, wan face. "You – a Malfoy! Yes, yes. Of course. I know your father – Lucius! He's a good man, and you, his good son."

"I don't know you," Draco said quickly, looking at the man with disgust.

"No, no, but I know you. Your family – purest of pure-bloods – the great, the noble, the benevolent family of Malfoy."

"Shut up," Black seethed. Looking down the point of Black's wand, Draco realized how close Peter had gotten, and when he tried to step back, Peter grabbed the front of his robes.

"We're not so different, you and I," Peter was saying, a desperate glint in his watery black eyes. "They're not your friends," he continued, glancing back at the others. "They'll never trust you, never accept you. Help me Young Master Malfoy. Help me and I will forever serve the House of Malfoy."

Draco looked up at the others: they all held their wands aloft now – even Hermione – and they were pointed at him. They had no reason to trust him, and probably no confidence that he would act in their favour; in that sense, Peter's words were true: they didn't trust him, they would probably never accept him, and they certainly weren't friends. Peter's desperate smile widened. "Yes Young Master, just – just give me your wand, and I will whisk us out of here to safety."

Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione spoke first. "Draco," she called out. Her voice was clear and steady but her brown-eyes were filled with uncertainty. "Draco listen to me. We want to believe you came back to help us – that you disarmed Professor Snape to defuse the situation." Slowly, she lowered her wand. "Show us that we _can_ trust you."

"No, no, no," Peter repeated, shaking his head and clutching Draco's robes. "Young Master, you cannot listen to her; she's a witch of poor birth – a Mudblood."

Draco thought he heard protest erupt from the others, but he couldn't be sure, because at that moment, he kicked Peter so hard, the man fell back, sprawled out on the ground. Lupin instantly bound the man up with cords.

"I've been thinking about Hermione's words," he said in a low voice, speaking to Black. "Let Peter pay for his crime but not at the cost of your life. You're free, Sirius. And look," he nodded toward Harry. "James and Lily's son – your godson – is alive. Wouldn't your penitence be better served by making things right by him?"

Everyone turned once more to Harry.

"Harry?" Black said in a hoarse, tentative voice.

"Bring him before Dumbledore," he answered at length. "If you are indeed innocent," he added, staring at Peter. "Then you have nothing to fear."

Peter Pettigrew's eyes widened with terror and he struggled helplessly against his restraints. "I guess we know the truth, then, eh?" Ron remarked breathlessly. Lupin moved next to him and looked over his leg.

"I can't mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing." He tapped Ron's leg with his wand and muttered, " _Ferula._ " Bandages spun up Ron's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint.

"Thanks. That's better," Ron said as Lupin helped him to his feet.

"What about Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, looking at the unconscious man with concern.

"There's nothing seriously wrong with him," said Lupin, bending over Snape to check his pulse. "You were just a little – over-enthusiastic. Perhaps it would be best if we don't revive him until we're safely back at the castle though." He muttered " _Mobilicorpus,_ " and Snape was pulled up by invisible strings like a marionette, his feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

"And two of us should be chained to this," Black suggested, kicking Peter in the gut. "Just to be sure."

"I'll do it," Lupin offered.

"And me," said Ron. He seemed to have taken Scabber's true identity as a personal insult.

Black conjured heavy metal cuffs and secured Peter between Lupin and Ron. He glanced back at Draco, his eyes narrowed.

"I won't cause any trouble," Draco said, holding both hands up. "I – I just want to get back to the school."

Black seemed unconvinced, but Hermione made her way next to Draco. "Don't worry Mr Black," she said with a nod. "I think he's telling the truth."

"Yeah," Harry added, standing at Draco's other side. "He had his chance to turn on us – and now he's outnumbered."

Draco cast Harry a disdainful look, but was otherwise grateful. With one last skeptical glance, Black turned away, but not before saying, "I'd still keep a close eye on him, Harry. He's a Malfoy, after all."

"That's the second time you've said that now," Draco remarked defensively. "I may be a Malfoy, but you're a Black – there's not much difference between our two families, is there?"

Draco found himself wondering if he'd drawn the comparison to discredit Black or to bring himself credibility, and if it was the latter, what did he believe of Sirius Black – and of himself? Black stopped walking, and for a moment, Draco thought he might have gone too far, but to his surprise, the older man merely looked over his shoulder and gave Draco the slightest of smiles before carrying on out the room.

* * *

The walk back through the tunnel seemed much longer on the return trip; maybe because their company had increased, maybe because they were encumbered by the shackled Pettigrew and unconscious Snape, or maybe it was because Draco was so damn tired.

"Thanks," Hermione said quietly. Draco hadn't realized they were walking side by side till she spoke up.

"For what?" he asked.

"For not getting the Dementors. And for coming back."

"I don't know why I did what I did," Draco murmured. It felt like a fog had descended upon him, his thoughts and actions that night being the most unclear.

"Well we weren't expecting you to return, that's for sure. We figured you'd run away like a coward," Harry said, and if he weren't so tired, Draco would have stopped to start a fight. "But even I have to admit it was decent of you to come back. Even if you were completely useless."

"You need to work on your gratitude, Potter," Draco retorted with a smirk.

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "When you work on your humility."

The air in the tunnel grew warmer as they drew closer to the opening. Sirius had drifted back to talk with Harry, and whatever they were discussing seemed to make both of them rather happy.

"You said that your family and Black's family were similar. What did you mean by that?"

Draco looked at Hermione and for once, had no desire to talk about his family history. "They're both old wizarding families," he explained, choosing his words carefully.

"So you mean pure-blood elitist," Hermione surmised.

The term Draco had been raised to be proud of sounded hollow when Hermione said it, and he certainly didn't feel superior to anybody at that moment. "Forget it," he cut off. "You wouldn't understand, being Muggle-born."

"No, actually, I do understand the matter quite clearly; I simply don't agree with it."

"It'd be different if you were actually born pure-blood," Draco argued.

"You know," Hermione persisted, her voice rising. "I don't think it would be. Just because you were born and raised in a pure-blood family doesn't mean you have to ascribe to their prejudices. Look at Sirius Black!"

Up ahead, Black's head twitched at the sound of his name, but he didn't stop nor did he look back.

"You don't even know him! And don't you compare me to someone who's been to Azkaban for murder."

"You were the cause of Buckbeak's death!"

Draco opened his mouth to say something – anything – to defend himself, but no words came to mind. Instead, he felt a surge of guilt and despair as the weight of someone else's life stole the air from his lungs. He turned away from Hermione and stalked off past everyone else toward the tunnel opening. He could still hear chattering behind him but he didn't care what they were saying about him anymore. Crookshanks darted out to press the knot on the Willow trunk, and Draco was the first to exit the tunnel. He turned toward the school and quickened his pace; he needed to be alone, to think – or perhaps _not_ think was more accurate. The grounds were very dark, and he strained to find his way. He tried hard not to wonder if the others needed help getting out of the tunnel, or if their quarry were secure; he reminded himself that he didn't care. A gentle summer breeze passed over him, rustling his hair; the clouds parted and moonlight streamed down.

Noise from behind made Draco turn back, and he saw that they had stopped. They appeared to be talking to each other – it was growing into quite a commotion, and Hermione's expression became startled. Realization dawned on Draco like a clock slowly ticking to midnight: Moonlight. Professor Lupin. Werewolf.

"Run!" he heard Black yell, but no one moved.

… Except Draco – whose body once again acted according to its own volition, bringing him toward the danger, rather than away. Professor Lupin's transformation happened so quickly but Draco felt like he was running through mud; he couldn't get back to them quick enough. He watched as Black changed himself into the large black dog that had dragged Ron under the tree, and lunge at Lupin, who had broken free of Ron and Pettigrew. Relieved of one of his escorts, Pettigrew went for Lupin's dropped wand, dragging the unsteady Ron down with him. Hermione screamed and Draco drew his wand – but too late. There was a bang and a flash of light as Pettigrew cursed Crookshanks, who had come flying at him. Another bang and Ron lay motionless on the ground. Pettigrew turned the wand on Harry and Hermione.

" _Diffindo!_ " Draco croaked, pointing at Pettigrew as he ran. Pettigrew reacted just in time to block Draco's spell, deflecting it upward at the nearby Willow tree. It ripped through a branch which he then directed toward Harry and Hermione. Distracted as they dove for safety, Draco didn't even see the curse Pettigrew cast at him. It struck him in the torso and his body erupted in pain. The last thing he remembered was hearing Harry yell, " _Expelliarmus!_ ", before his world went dark.


	4. Part 4

Draco woke up in the hospital wing the following morning to the unsmiling faces of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Oh," Ron said, sounding disappointed. "He's alive."

"Of course he's alive," Hermione responded with an exasperated sigh. "Madam Pomfrey said he'd be fine – just like how she said you'd be fine." She shuffled a little closer to Draco's bedside and looked down at him. "I need you to listen closely: You came to the hospital wing last night because your arm was bothering you, and Madam Pomfrey insisted that you spend the night."

"What?" Draco cried, sitting up so fast he nearly knocked Hermione on the head.

"That's your cover," Hermione insisted with a set expression.

"But that's –" Draco was going to say 'ridiculous' but truthfully, it seemed like something he would do. He conceded with a silent nod, but then asked, "What happened last night – after I blacked out? Did you catch Pettigrew? Is Professor Lupin alright – and Professor Snape? And what about Black?"

The three exchanged looks. "It's better that you don't know," Hermione answered.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You don't trust me?"

"It's complicated," Harry answered this time. His expression appeared as if he had more to say but wasn't quite sure what to say or how to say it. But just then, the school's matron made her way over, and Harry and the others stepped back.

"And how is your arm feeling this morning?" she asked Draco.

"Umm, better?" he answered uncertainly.

Madam Pomfrey studied Draco with sharp eyes that looked beyond his old Hippogriff injury. "Drink this," she instructed, handing him a small vial. She hadn't given Draco anything to drink the first time he was admitted for his injury, but the matron's expression clearly read, _'No questions'_ , so he simply did as he was told. When he was finished, she took the empty vial from him, then flicked her wand: new bandages appeared, wrapping themselves around Draco's "injured arm".

"You're free to go," she said with a nod. Then she turned and walked back to her office without another word.

Draco glanced up at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who still stood by. "Well, we should probably get going," Ron said slowly. "We don't want to be seen exiting the infirmary together, now, do we?"

But before they too turned to leave, Harry walked forward. "I said before that I can tell who the wrong sort are," he said after some thought. Slowly, he extended his hand to Draco. Just as slowly, Draco lifted his own hand and clasped Harry's.

* * *

For the first time ever, Draco felt out of place in the Slytherin House. He'd lied easily enough to his contemporaries, telling them he had spent the night in the infirmary because his injury was bothering him; no one questioned him, whether or not it was because they trusted him, or because they simply didn't care enough to challenge him, Draco no longer knew. Even Crabbe and Goyle didn't wonder why he declined to join them and the rest of his House for an afternoon at Hogsmeade to celebrate the end of exams.

He had learned from the Daily Prophet that Black had been apprehended, but made a miraculous escape and was still at large. There was no mention of Pettigrew, so Draco could only assume he had escaped as well, though no one would be looking for him. Draco had also not seen Professor Snape since the previous day, but had a feeling he might be skulking in his office somewhere in the dungeons – which was just as well, because he didn't know how he was supposed to act around him now.

Later on that afternoon, on his way to the library, Draco stopped by Professor Lupin's office. The door was open, and without knocking, he entered.

"Ah, Draco," Professor Lupin greeted, as if expecting him. He noticed that many of his things were packed away. "I have to admit, I'm quite surprised to see you. How may I help you?"

"A Professor should look more… capable," Draco began, gazing around the room. "I think a clean set of robes for next year will give a good first impression – and match your talents."

Lupin raised his eyebrows with surprise. "That's very generous of you," he said. "But new robes will be quite unnecessary as I will not be returning to Hogwarts next year."

"What? Why?"

"It seems your Head of House shared my err, little secret, shall we say. Parents will not want their children being taught by a werewolf, so I've resigned as of this morning." He walked over to his desk and glanced down at some parchment that lay open on top. "I'll be lucky if the school governors don't petition for my arrest – Dumbledore already took such a risk, getting me this job."

"They won't," Draco said flatly. Lupin looked up at him with even greater surprise. "I'll see to it that they don't seek further reprimand. I know who they are – I'll write to them, or I'll have my parents write. I'll make sure they know you were acting to protect us – I mean Granger and the others."

"Draco… "

"And if you need a job, my family knows some businesses – reputable ones. We can arrange a meeting for you. They don't have to know that you're a werewolf."

"I _have_ to disclose that I'm a werewolf," Lupin laughed without humour. He smiled a moment later, but looking rather tired as he did. "Why would you go to such lengths for me, Draco?" Lupin asked. "You always had such disregard for me during our lessons." When Draco didn't answer (because he didn't know what to say), Lupin took a guess. "You owe me nothing, if you feel indebted in any way," he said at first. When Draco didn't respond, he took a different approach. "You have already proven that you are not your father – or any of those who came before you – even if you are a Malfoy. Whether that brings you comfort or not, is up to you. But," he added, lowering his voice, "A son should have the _choice_ to follow the example of his father – and he should _understand_ that which he chooses."

Finally, Draco looked up. "Will – will you tell me about him, Professor? About Sirius Black?"

With a smile that made him look much younger, Professor Lupin gestured for Draco to have a seat. "What would you like to know?"

* * *

It was a quiet ride home on the Hogwarts Express. Originally sharing a carriage with Crabbe, Goyle, and a couple of other Slytherins, Draco had remained detached and distant, barely listening to their conversation, only chiming in here and there, and forcing himself to laugh at jokes he no longer found very funny. Eventually, the compartment emptied, the others slipping out to find friends in other cabins. Draco didn't mind. He read quietly in his seat, not even looking up when he heard the door open.

"Brushing up on your Quidditch plays?" Hermione commented, standing in the doorway. Draco looked up from his book. "Those are the only books Harry and Ron read too – though I suppose I should be relieved to see them reading at all."

"What are you doing here, Granger?" Draco asked, completely bewildered. He leaned back into his seat a little. "You're not going to curse me, are you?"

"Do I have a reason to?"

Draco thought better than to answer that question. With a sigh, Hermione's expression relaxed into a smile. "I just thought I'd come by and tell you that… Buckbeak wasn't executed. He miraculously escaped before the committee could carry out his sentence."

"That's… That's…" Draco wanted to say "great"; he wanted to jump to his feet and hug Hermione for the good news. But he didn't. He just stared, frozen in his seat, like his mind couldn't compute what he felt versus what was expected of him. But what did Hermione expect from him?

"I know it's not easy for you," Hermione said quietly. "But you have to understand that your actions affect other people – that there are consequences."

"I understand consequences," Draco replied. "At least… I do now."

Hermione might have smiled, but noise in the hallway drew her attention; Draco could tell from her expression that his fellows were returning.

"What do _you_ want?" he could hear one of them say.

"Did that loser Longbottom lose his toad again?"

One by one, they pushed past Hermione to get back into the compartment. "Or has it got something to do with Weasley's rat that's gone missing?"

"Didn't _your_ cat eat it, Granger?" one of the girls laughed. "Though he can't miss it too much, looking at you. Your teeth are just like a rat's, aren't they, Granger?"

Draco got to his feet and glared at the other Slytherins. "Shut up, all of you," he said angrily. They looked back at him curiously. "I'm trying to read, or did none of you notice?" He walked to the door and looked down at Hermione. "Get out of here, Granger," he said to her. With his back to his peers he allowed himself the slightest of smiles.

"Have a good summer, Draco," Hermione whispered with her own smile.

* * *

Normally, both of Draco's parents picked him up from the station, but for some reason, his father was absent.

"He's just doing some travelling, dearest," his mother explained at his persistence. "Something came up that's called his attention but it's nothing you need to concern yourself over. Now tell me, how was your year at school?"

Draco summarized his third-year for his mother, glossing over some of the details. "Oh I heard about that Professor Lupin," she said, pursing her lips as she spoke. "Honestly what is Hogwarts coming to? I'm beginning to think I should have let your father send you to Durmstrang instead."

"He's not a bad teacher," Draco found himself saying. "And he's a lot more decent than Greyback."

"Fenrir Greyback is an acquaintance of your father's," Narcissa pointed out sharply. "He has nothing to do with the Malfoy family and I would _never_ allow him to interact with you personally. Werewolves are werewolves, Draco, no matter how _decent_ they may appear to be."

When they arrived home, an unexpected surprise greeted him at the front door: Draco's Aunt Andromeda.

"My how you've grown, Draco," she said cheerfully. She approached her nephew but was stopped by his mother.

"Andromeda, have you finished with the silver yet? My company is coming tomorrow."

Andromeda laughed at her younger sister's petty concern. "I finished that hours ago; why you can't manage such a simple spell is beyond me."

" _That_ spell is _beneath_ me," Narcissa articulated, her cold eyes becoming frigid. "And do not touch my son with such filthy hands."

"If they're filthy," Andromeda returned, the cheerfulness leaving her voice. "It's because I've been cleaning _your_ house for the past three days."

"Three days? Mother, what happened to…" Draco honestly couldn't remember the last housekeeper they had; his mother kept changing them out so frequently.

"Things weren't working out with her," his mother said simply, as she had said at least a dozen times previous. "And I don't have time to interview another – not that the agency was willing to send someone on such short notice. But I was in a bit of a pinch –"

"You were desperate," Andromeda corrected.

"– so I commissioned your Aunt, since she's so good at manual labour," Narcissa finished, glaring at her sister.

"Does Dad –"

"Your father," Draco's mother cut in, "Doesn't need to know. I'll have hired a new housekeeper by the time he returns." She brushed back her son's hair, and smiled. "Now, there are some Parisian sweets for you to enjoy in the kitchen, delivered just this morning. Why don't you go relax while your Aunt takes your luggage to your room."

That evening, Draco and his mother belatedly celebrated his birthday at his favourite restaurant. For his present, he received tickets to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, which was being hosted in England that year.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed when he opened the package (which contained a few other goodies as well).

"The seats are in the Minister for Magic's luxury box. It was your father's idea; he knew you'd love it. There is an extra ticket, if you'd like to invite a friend to join."

"Thanks, Mum," Draco said, leaning over and giving his mother a kiss on the cheek.

For the remainder of the evening, Draco wondered who he could invite to the World Cup; it would be the biggest event of the summer, and he was sure many of his schoolmates would already be in attendance – but their seats wouldn't even begin to compare to what he held. For some reason, he thought of Hermione, and it made him laugh to think of how a Muggle-born might experience such an event as the Quidditch World Cup. His amusement soon faded, but the thought did not; as he stared out his bedroom window, gently brushing the feathers of his eagle owl, he found himself wondering about Hermione Granger – how her summer was starting out, when her birthday was, if she liked Parisian sweets, and if she would be attending the Quidditch World Cup – perhaps with Harry and Ron?

He grabbed a sheet of parchment from his desk and his feathered quill, then started writing:

 _Have you heard of the Quidditch World Cup? I got tickets for my birthday and_

He scratched out his writing, crumpled up the sheet, and tossed it aside. Grabbing a new sheet, he started again:

 _How is your summer coming along? Have you ever eaten sweets from Paris?_

Well that just made him sound pretentious, Draco thought, and stupid, since summer only just started. This time, he grabbed a few more sheets. He dipped his quill in the ink pot, tapping it on the edge a few times as he thought.

 _I never got to tell you to have a good summer as well. I'm not sure if you've heard of the Quidditch World Cup but you should definitely try to attend since it will be quite a spectacle. You should ask Potter and Weasley; I'm sure they'd love to tell you all about it. I've enclosed a cookie from Paris. I hope it is to your liking._

He grabbed a biscuit off a plate on his desk and wrapped it in one of the clean sheets of parchment, then tied it up with some string. He walked back to his eagle owl who sat atop its cage by the window.

"What am I doing?" Draco murmured to himself. He placed the letter and cookie on the window sill, and started pacing his room. He walked the length of his room three times before he stopped by the window again. He looked at his eagle owl and frowned. "Can you even find Hermione Granger?" he asked it quietly. Suddenly, his pet spread its massive wings, swooped down to grab his letter (and cookie), and carried it off into the night with a gentle hoot.

At first, Draco tried to convince himself that _that_ hadn't actually happened, but he couldn't really deny that the letter and his owl were gone, so he switched to believing that his owl would not be able to find the intended recipient.

"And there's probably more than just one Hermione Granger," Draco muttered, wringing his hands as he paced his room. "Maybe it's been delivered to someone else – no, no! It hasn't been delivered at all. No, Imperia will surely return with the letter and cookie – distraught at failing, but I'll give her a nice treat to console her."

The owl eventually did return, the letter still clutched in its claws. Draco stared at her, and at the letter; he wasn't sure if he was relieved or secretly disappointed. The owl hooted impatiently, wanting reward – or consolation. Slowly, Draco approached her. He reached forward and she dropped the paper in his hand, then fluttered back to her cage where she preened her feathers. Draco fed her a couple of treats, gently brushing her feathers. "It's okay that you didn't find her," he said softly. "I'm actually – ow!" Imperia had nipped him – a little too hard to be affectionate. "I'm trying to console you, you big stupid – ow! Okay, I'm sorry. You're not stupid – of course you're not stupid. But…" he glanced at the crumpled paper he'd put on his desk. "No." He ran over and smoothed it out. It wasn't his writing.

 _I'm assuming this is Draco Malfoy – you should really learn to sign your letters, even if it's just an informal note. I recognized your eagle owl from all the deliveries she's made to you at school. She's a very clever and beautiful bird; please do tell me her name so that I may thank her properly the next time I see her. Harry and Ron have certainly told me about the Quidditch World Cup, and we are making plans to attend together – providing we can get tickets. I think Mr Weasley is asking around his work. Finally, thank you for the cookie, but as my parents are dentists and prefer that I don't eat sweets after nine o'clock, I'll have to wait till morning to taste it._

 _Do have a good summer, Draco.  
_ _Hermione._

Draco read the letter at least three times, drinking in every word. He quickly ran to his desk and started writing.

 _Yes, this is Draco. Sorry I didn't make that clear the first time. My owl's name is Imperia; her favourite treat is sweet apple. I hope you and the others manage to get tickets because it's going to be a brilliant match. Bulgaria's seeker is something else – way better than Potter. If you find that you like the cookie, I can send more; Mum's ordered a big box._

 _Regards,  
_ _Draco._

He tied the letter to his owl's leg, and with a smile, whispered, "Take this back to Granger, will you?" Imperia once again spread her wings and soared out his bedroom window.

"Who are you messaging so late in the night?"

Draco turned to see his mother standing in the doorway.

"Just a school friend," Draco answered, wiping the smile from his face. But his mother could easily see through her son's façade. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him knowingly. "A – A girl," Draco admitted.

"And what is this girl's name?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Draco lied, naming a Slytherin girl in his year.

Narcissa Malfoy studied her son with clear, discerning eyes. "Parkinson," she repeated. Draco nodded. "Well it's late, and a proper young lady will be in bed by now. Getting enough rest is important at your age." She ushered her son to his bed where she tucked him in, kissing him on the head. With a flick of her wand, the lights in his room were extinguished.

"Good night, Mum," he said, as she drew his bedroom doors shut.

"Good night, dearest."

But Draco didn't fall asleep. He couldn't. He lay in his bed, listening to the clock tick, listening to the crickets chirp – listening for the flutter of wings. After what felt like hours, Imperia returned once more. Draco jumped from his bed and raced to her cage where he fed her as many treats as he had. He removed the letter from her leg and opened it quickly, reading it by the light that drifted through his window.

 _Harry and Ron seem to be favouring Ireland even if Ron keeps prattling on about Bulgaria's seeker. And if you say Viktor Krum is better than Harry, then he must be better than you too, since you have yet to beat Harry in a match. Truthfully, you aren't a terrible player, but as the saying goes: practice makes perfect._

 _Please don't send any more letters tonight; some of us have studying to do._

 _Good night.  
_ _Hermione._

Draco walked back to his bed and fell onto it, staring up at the high ceiling of his room. His face hurt from smiling and his chest ached; the whole ordeal had left him exhausted, and yet, he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep that night.


	5. Part 5

Lucius Malfoy returned a week after Draco's summer started. He had put on airs around his son, trying to hide how tired and burdened he was – what about, Draco couldn't even begin to guess. As the Quidditch World Cup drew near, Draco's mother reminded him that he had yet to choose a third to attend with him and his father. He did, of course, have someone in mind, but that was completely out of the question.

"What about that lovely Pansy Parkinson?" his mother suggested one day as they sat down for tea. She had hired a new housekeeper – a French-Canadian woman who spoke more French than English, but baked some of the best pastries Draco had ever eaten. "I looked her mother up – invited her out to lunch one day and had a long chat. She's from a good family and quite well-mannered."

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed with embarrassment.

"Mrs Parkinson had only nice things to say about you as it seems her daughter is quite smitten. You must be careful though, Draco: there will be some young women who are _only_ interested in the family name."

"And there are others who don't care at all," Draco muttered as he ripped apart a currant scone.

"Oh sweetheart, I didn't mean that _all_ women will only be interested in marrying into the family," Narcissa clarified, completely misinterpreting Draco's comment. "Of course there will be plenty who will have their hearts stolen by my little boy."

The young Malfoy stared irritably across the table at his mother. He was beyond the age where he liked to be told he was handsome by his mum; he hoped for that attention elsewhere. "Actually, I was thinking that you should come along with father and me," Draco answered, redirecting the conversation to its origin. "It will be a special occasion, and I'm sure father would want to show off his entire family to the Minister and all his colleagues."

Draco's mother was clearly touched by her son's sentiment – even if it was at heart, a diversion.

Through his correspondence with Hermione, Draco learned that Ron's father did manage to obtain tickets to the World Cup – _and_ their seats were in the same box! Initially, he was happy, thinking he might be able to enjoy the game with them, but he soon realized that with his father and mother at his side, that would be impossible. He had shared these thoughts with Hermione, whose response was depressing at best.

 _If you're going to be ashamed of us then why bother meeting?_

For the first time since they had started writing each other, Draco had been glad their words were exchanged through letters and not in person, because he would have likely told Hermione off. These things weren't simple for him; his world was not as rose-coloured as others thought: he was the _only_ son and heir of the Malfoy family – a family which had upheld ancient wizarding traditions, standards, and beliefs since its beginnings. His family was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight – twenty-eight British families that were considered to be truly pure-blood – and proud to be counted among them. You didn't just make decisions for yourself; you made decisions with family in mind. And to Draco, family was everything. But despite these deeply rooted convictions, Draco had to admit "family" was also a very tenuous thing: relatives were easily disowned due to friendships formed, actions taken, and who they chose to love. All to maintain the integrity of the bloodline.

Draco didn't disagree, but he didn't know if he agreed with this ideology either; all he knew was that he was terrified of being cast away, of losing everyone and everything he had – which seemed to be a lot. On the other hand, he couldn't deny he envied the easy-going friendship between Hermione, Harry, and Ron. A friendship he secretly wondered if he could share in.

Harry had called him a coward before, and he was now feeling the truth of those words. But what did they understand of the decisions he had to make? Of the ideals he was expected to preserve?

So when the date of the match rolled around, and the Malfoy's received their personal Portkey for transport, Draco joined his parents with noticeably less enthusiasm. His heart only sank further when they were led to their seats: Hermione, Harry, and apparently the entire Weasley family were already there, chatting, laughing, and having what looked like a really good time. Draco was introduced to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and while the adults exchanged pleasantries, Draco kept glancing back toward Hermione and the others; he caught her eye once, and she casually shrugged – as if to say it was his fault he was over 'there' rather than over 'here'. It made him angry.

"It's that Potter boy," he heard his mother hiss. She gazed at him with such disdain he wondered how Harry might have insulted her so personally. But then he remembered that Harry had cost his mother their house-elf Dobby. Her cold eyes flickered from Harry to a quivering house-elf sitting near the end of the second row; her eyes grew… colder? Or what was that? Draco didn't have time to think on it as his thoughts were interrupted.

"Good Lord, Arthur," his father was saying. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Draco's face felt as red as Mr Weasley's was turning; "Dad," he tried to say, but his voice wouldn't come out. Luckily, his mother had no trouble speaking. "Lucius," she said in a cautious whisper. "The Minister is right there." Her eyes darted back to the colourfully dressed man who was having a disjointed conversation with the Bulgarian Minister for Magic. With a curt nod, Narcissa slipped her arm into her husband's and forcefully turned him away into their seats. Draco tried to apologize to Ron without words, but he had already turned back, arms folded across his chest.

The game was exciting enough to even shake Draco from his gloominess; Ireland won though Bulgaria's seeker had caught the snitch. Draco had watched hungrily as Krum flew with deft skill, wondering if he might be able to replicate the same move when his season started up at Hogwarts. After the game, Draco's parents brought him to some family friend's tent for celebratory drinks. There were many faces Draco recognized, including his school mates Crabbe and Goyle, but also some he didn't know. Not that he cared. The adults were in one section of the large drawing room, laughing and drinking amber-coloured liquids; his own mother was sitting in a tall-backed chair, smiling over a glass of red wine with some of her high society friends.

"This is boring," Draco drawled, putting down his third bottle of butterbeer. He got to his feet and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Crabbe asked, his mouth full of cake from the dessert trolley.

"To get some fresh air."

The tent was situated far from the main campsite where he knew Hermione and the others would be. With a sigh, Draco sat down on a nearby boulder and stared off into the distance; a low hum of noise hung over the area with the occasional hoot or holler breaking out. How long he sat there, he didn't know, but he was just starting to doze off when a mob of people burst forth from the tent. They were loud, laughing, jeering, but their words were indecipherable. Many of them were wearing dark robes now – and masks. After they disappeared into the night, Draco got to his feet and walked back to the entrance of the tent to find his parents. His mother was sitting by the fire.

"Where's dad?" he asked, taking a seat next to her. Her cheeks were rosy from the wine, and she looked tired.

"Oh he went off somewhere with his friends, dearest," she said, brushing his hair back with a sweet smile. "It's late; why aren't you sleeping?"

He was just thinking he might (it _was_ very comfortable by the fire) when a loud bang chased the drowsiness from his body. "What was that?" he asked, looking around. His mother was suddenly sitting upright, fully alert, a concerned expression on her face.

"Stay here," she said to her son. She got to her feet and drew her wand. " _Do_ – _not_ – leave this tent," she added.

"I'll come with you, Narcissa," another woman said, glancing back at a sleeping boy Draco recognized as his classmate, Theodore Nott, before following her out.

Even from the shelter of the luxury tent, Draco could hear the noise outside growing louder: there was no more laughter, and the hooting and hollering had turned into screams. By now, Draco was growing used to moving toward danger rather than staying put where he was safe. He exited the tent and stepped into chaos: People were running in all directions, some shouting, many with their wands brandished. Further in the distance, he could see a large crowd; suspended above them, the shadows of two adults and two small children.

"Come on," a woman said, running up behind Draco and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Into the woods now." She ushered him along at a quickened pace. More joined their group as people sought shelter among the trees. His eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, searched the faces of the panic-stricken crowd. He heard a yelp from a familiar voice, and moved in that direction.

"What happened?" another familiar voice said, sounding anxious.

Someone lit a wand, and Draco stumbled onto Hermione, Harry, and Ron – the last sprawled on the ground, his foot snagged on a tree-root.

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, helping Ron to his feet.

"I – I don't know, but you have to get out of here," he stammered, staring straight at Hermione. He grabbed Harry and Hermione by the shoulders and started pushing. "Go!" he shouted.

"What – I don't understand," Hermione was saying. "What about you?"

"And what about me?" Ron asked, trailing behind, sounding a bit dejected.

"Oh you'll be fine Weasley – and so will I, because we're pure-bloods."

"Pure-blood?" Ron repeated, looking shocked – maybe because Draco was showing concern, maybe because he had referred to him as a 'pure-blood' rather than a 'blood traitor'. "Meaning…"

"Death Eaters," Draco confirmed with a dark look. "Keep her safe," he said, locking eyes with Harry. "I have to go back."

"Wait!" Hermione cried. "Come with us."

Draco's heart dropped to his stomach. "I can't," he said quietly. "My mum will be looking for me." Before he turned to leave, Hermione grabbed his hand; "Don't do anything stupid," she said, holding his gaze.

When Draco got back to the tent, all his school friends had been roused from their sleep by the commotion.

"Where did you go?" Crabbe asked, his voice small for a boy his size.

"Got swept up in the crowd," Draco answered easily.

"Guess our fathers had a bit too much to drink," Theodore commented, looking out. "And got carried away."

Draco didn't know if the other boys knew that Death Eaters had been torturing the Muggle family that owned the grounds they camped on, but Theodore's words made him uneasy. "This is no laughing matter," he said, glaring at the others. "Do you know how many people from the Ministry are out there? How much trouble they'll get in if they're caught?"

Realization dawned on the others as they seemed to grasp the severity of the situation. "You're right," Theodore agreed, nodding slowly. "There will be no talking their way out of it this time. What do we do?"

"Nothing," Draco said. "Get back inside and –"

There was a loud snap and two women appeared: Draco's mother and the other woman that had left with her. "Draco," she said, walking over to him. "We're going."

"But – what about dad?"

His mother gave him a look that instantly shut him up. She put her arm around his shoulders and with a crack, they Disapparated.


	6. Part 6

**The** next time Draco saw Hermione and the others was on the Hogwarts Express on the way to school. He had to sneak out of his compartment to find them, and even then, they didn't have a lot of time to talk. They told him about what had happened after he left them at the World Cup, about the Dark Mark appearing.

"There were no deaths," Harry said, watching Draco closely. "And they didn't catch any of the Death Eaters either." Draco still didn't say anything, though everyone was staring at him now. "Malfoy, was your dad –"

"You know he won't answer that," Hermione cut in. "And would you believe him if he said 'no' anyway?"

Though Draco was grateful to Hermione, he understood this didn't alleviate the suspicion held against his father – and truthfully, he wasn't sure what to believe himself. His father had not returned home to the manor until the following afternoon, giving the excuse that he had fallen asleep at another friend's tent. When asked if he had participated in the Death Eater march, he outright denied it. His wife didn't believe him though, and they had gotten into a serious argument over it.

"The Ministry will handle it," Hermione said with finality. "There's no sense in interrogating or antagonizing Draco."

Silence filled the cabin, and Draco was thinking maybe he should leave when he spotted something caught on Ron's owl's cage.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. It was maroon, velvet, and… was that lace? Ron got to his feet to stuff it away, but Draco was quicker. He grabbed the item and pulled. "Oh my," he said: it was a maroon velvet dress robe, with lace detailing at the collar and cuffs.

"Give that back!" Ron shouted, snatching it from Draco's hands.

"You know, I think I remember seeing a photo of my great-grandmother wearing those same dress robes," Draco laughed as Ron's face turned the same colour as his formal wear.

"I don't even know why we need them suddenly," Ron remarked, slamming his trunk closed.

"Oh you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Ron asked, turning on Draco sharply.

Draco's smile widened. "Doesn't your father work for the Ministry, Weasley?" he asked Ron, balancing his tone between surprise and condescension. "I've had to take private lessons for nearly half the summer to give me a leg up."

"A leg up on what?" the other boy nearly shouted in his frustration. "Out with it, Malfoy!"

Draco almost started laughing again; it was so much more fun to tease him in good humour than out of spite. "Relax Weasley. I'm talking about the Tri –"

The door suddenly slid open, and on the other side, stood Crabbe and Goyle. "What's going on?" Goyle asked, peering in.

"This sad lot giving you trouble?" Crabbe asked.

"More like I'm giving them trouble," Draco rebutted. He looked around the compartment for help.

"Uh yeah," Ron stammered. "Get out of here you manky cow!" He glared at Draco, who was trying very hard not to laugh. It didn't help that Harry's face was twitching between a very forced frown and a smirk.

"Right, Weasley," Draco said slowly, turning around. He glanced back at Hermione whose face was half-hidden behind _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four_ ; she made a shooing motion with her hands.

"And don't come back!" Ron shouted, after him, down the corridor.

As Draco followed Crabbe and Goyle back to their compartment, he heard the sound of laughter erupt from behind before the door slid shut.

 **Later** that evening, Dumbledore would be the one to announce that the Triwizard Tournament would be taking place at Hogwarts that year – a friendly tournament between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. It was an event that used to occur once every five years, with each school taking a turn as host, but due to the high death toll, it had long been discontinued. This year would be the first time in centuries the Triwizard Tournament would be held, and Draco had every intention of being Hogwarts's champion. Well, that was until Dumbledore also announced that an age restriction had been put in place to better ensure the safety of participating students: anyone wanting to submit their name would have to be at least seventeen years of age. Like many others, Draco had gone to bed fuming about the new restriction and dreamt about ways around the rule.

 **The** next morning, the post arrived during breakfast; Imperia flew into the Great Hall and circled a few times, hooting above the Gryffindor table, Draco noticed, before gently placing a package on the table before him and landing on his outstretched arm. She nuzzled her head against his affectionately while waiting for her reward. Somehow (Draco never put much thought into it), a small bowl of cut apples was always prepared for him by his seating, and he fed Imperia a few pieces before she took off. The package was full of homemade sweets (homemade by their French-Canadian housekeeper that is) but Draco's mother had inserted a note as well: _'I'm terribly sorry to hear that there has been an age restriction set for the Tournament. You'll always be my Champion, dearest. Love Mum and Dad.'_ Before anyone could see the note, Draco folded it up and tucked it away in his robes.

Later that morning, during _Care of Magical Creatures_ where Draco learned they would be raising Blast-Ended Skrewts (to what purpose, he had no idea), he took the opportunity to chat very quickly with Hermione, Harry, and Ron.

"So what do you think, about the Triwizard Tournament?" he asked as they collectively rummaged through a bucket of frog livers.

"Brilliant," Harry said at first, a particularly large frog liver slipping out of his hand. "But the age restriction means none of us can even try out, doesn't it?"

"Although, Fred and George reckon they can come up with a way around that," Ron shared.

Hermione made a clucking noise. "As if they could come up with anything to fool Dumbledore."

"We talked about this, Hermione," Ron droned, sounding exasperated. "There's an _impartial judge_. I'll bet once this judge chooses someone, even Dumbledore won't be able to overrule his decision."

"So… maybe if we make a really good impression – a show of skill to prove we can handle it?" Draco suggested hopefully. The three boys nodded at each other while Hermione shook her head. Draco wandered back to feed a Blast-Ended Skrewt, all the while thinking which spells he should use to impress the judge. He had learned a fair bit from his private lessons, and he was one of the top students in his year (though not nearly as smart as Hermione); on top of that, he was a Malfoy. Draco smiled to himself. He was starting to feel really good about his chances at becoming the Hogwarts Champion.

 **After** lunch, Draco bumped into Hermione in the library.

"What are you reading?" she asked, peering over his shoulder. Draco snapped the book shut, but the girl had seen enough. "You're not seriously going to try and enter the Tournament, are you?"

"Why not? The others are going to. Why shouldn't I have a go at it?"

"Oh come on, Draco. You're smarter than them, aren't you? This is _Dumbledore_ we're talking about. Even if he's not the judge, he's going to put measures in place to stop anyone under seventeen from even trying. Why waste your time?"

"Some of us want to try and achieve something," Draco argued, roughly putting _Spells to Impress: A Guide to the Most Famous Spells; Our Three-Hundredth Edition Special!_ back on the shelf.

"Why not use that energy to achieve better grades then?" Hermione challenged.

"My rank is fifth in our year; that's not bad."

"First is better," she replied with a slight smirk. "Besides, the Tournament is really dangerous, you know." She flipped through the small pile of books she cradled in her arm and handed Draco _A Statistical Overview of the Triwizard Tournaments_. "I thought if I shared some of the statistics regarding injuries and death, maybe you gormless idiots wouldn't be so eager to participate."

Draco blinked at Hermione. "Me included?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Yes, you too," Hermione huffed, looking a bit put off.

"But…"

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"But… You punched me – just last year!"

Hermione's lips twitched, as if she were trying hard not to smile. "Well that just goes to show that anyone is capable of change, doesn't it?" Whether she was talking about herself or him, Draco couldn't be sure. Maybe she meant both. He hoped she meant both. The afternoon bell rang, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her shoes. "I haven't even gotten a chance to… Mind returning that to me later tonight?" she asked, indicating _A Statistical Overview of the Triwizard Tournaments_.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks for this."

With a nod, Hermione disappeared into another aisle.

* * *

 **The** rest of the week was passing by uneventfully when Hermione approached Draco early one morning before breakfast. She had been waiting by the entrance of the Great Hall and motioned for him to join her; with some clever lie (he was getting good at those), he excused himself from his companions at the Slytherin Table and doubled-back to the front hall.

"Is everything okay?" he asked as they walked out the front entrance and around the side of the school building.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Her smile was brilliant and Draco wondered to what he owed this great pleasure – and then she held out her hand: in it was a badge with the letters S.P.E.W.

"What's this?"

"It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare." She then shared the short and long-term goals for this group she had apparently created to fight against the current conditions of house-elves.

"Granger, you know my family used to have a house-elf, right?"

" _Used to_ being the key here. Your family would be a great example of how to get by without the traditional terms imposed on house-elves."

Draco looked from Hermione's shining face to the S.P.E.W. badge. He tried not to think how furious his mother would be if she knew he was even considering this.

"It's two sickles to join, and you get this badge."

"I don't know," Draco hesitated. "I can't wear –"

"Let me guess: You can't wear something that Harry, Ron, and myself are wearing, because you're ashamed –"

"I am not ashamed," Draco argued.

"All the sneaking around and lying you do would suggest otherwise. Would it be so bad for your fellow Slytherins to know that you have friends in Gryffindor? Would it be so terrible for the whole school to know that we're friends?"

It was early; Draco hadn't even had breakfast yet, hadn't had a chance to think about his day, and here Hermione stood, asking him questions he'd been struggling all summer to answer for himself. "Do you hate us?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"No. Of course not." Even though it was the truth, it felt a little weird to hear the words articulated. "I really don't… hate you."

"Then you're going to have to make a choice one of these days," Hermione concluded. She turned around to head back to the school but Draco reached out and stopped her. She looked back at him, surprised.

"Two sickles, right?" he said, reaching into his pocket. He took the badge from Hermione's palm and replaced it with two silver coins. "Don't bug me if you don't see me wearing it; things are more complicated than you understand, so I'll wear it when I'm ready."

The smile reappeared across Hermione's lips. He would have gladly given a mountain of sickles for that smile, and as she walked back to the school's entrance, he wondered what he'd just committed himself to.

 **Thankfully** , with the noticeable increase in their workload as fourth years, Draco didn't have to think about it much. On top of classes, homework, and extra practice (for the Tournament try-out, though he hadn't heard anything about how Fred and George Weasley were faring in their scheme to get around the age restriction), Hagrid had insisted that his students visit their Blast-Ended Skrewts on alternate evenings to further observe their growth. Draco didn't like this idea at all: he hated those things and was really beginning to wonder why he hadn't dropped Care of Magical Creatures in favour of some other subject. But it was too late to pick up something new. He was having a hard enough time catching up to Hermione as things were.

Before he knew it, October had come and was nearly gone. An announcement was posted in the Entrance Hall the beginning of the last week, announcing that the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving at 6 o'clock that Friday, and a Welcoming Feast would be held in their honour. A buzz hung about the whole school till that Friday, when their guests arrived in style: Beauxbatons flew in – a dozen winged palominos the size of elephants pulling a gigantic powder-blue carriage through the air – and landed in the front courtyard of the school. Durmstrang arrived shortly after by water: their ship emerged from the large lake on the school grounds like a resurrected wreck. The arrival of both schools was exciting in and of itself, but the revelation that Viktor Krum was a Durmstrang delegate tipped the scale to pandemonium. Suddenly students were walking over each other, scurrying for quills and parchment for an autograph. Draco didn't have to worry about these things though, because the Durmstrang delegates joined the Slytherin table. He wasn't surprised: from what he had heard from his father, Durmstrang as a school upheld similar principles as Slytherin.

 **Along** with the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the school also welcomed two others: Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. They were likely involved in the organizing of the Triwizard Tournament, and Draco wondered if they were the impartial judges in choosing each school's champion. After dinner was concluded, Dumbledore made a little announcement, but Draco barely paid attention; he was too excited. He was just picturing how he might spend his one thousand galleons of prize-money – he could buy a whole lot of S.P.E.W. badges with that kind of money; he smiled unwittingly thinking how happy Hermione might be over that.

But the school would soon learn that the impartial judge was truly impartial: The Goblet of Fire, a large, roughly hewn wooden cup, full of dancing blue-white flames. Anyone wishing to participate had to write their name and school on a piece of parchment and throw it into the cup. They would have to cross the Age Line Dumbledore was going to draw around it first though. By the next morning, all of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had submitted their names; a handful of Hogwarts students had as well, including Cassius Warrington from Slytherin. Draco, having not heard anything from anyone about getting past the Age Line, spent the entire day in the library researching. He fell asleep on his books by midday though, and missed lunch. By the time he woke up, it was nearly time for supper, and Draco grudgingly decided to give up. He would be really angry if Harry or Ron had learned a way around the Age Line and not told him, though he wasn't sure if they thought of him as friends the same way Hermione did, even if they had been getting along pretty well recently.

Dinner was another feast which was great because Draco was starving but things really dragged on, and he grew impatient waiting for the Tournament to begin. After dinner was (finally) cleared, Dumbledore stood up to speak (again). And then it was Goblet of Fire time! Draco sat on the edge of his seat like every other student in the Great Hall as the Goblet made its choices. The three Champions were: Viktor Krum for Durmstrang, Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, and Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts. Everyone cheered as the Champions made their way to a chamber to receive their first instructions. But then the Goblet lit up a fourth time, and a fourth name shot out of the cup, and as Dumbledore read the fourth name, Draco, along with everyone else present, gaped in shock:

"Harry Potter."


	7. Part 7

Draco was livid. And so was Ron. The morning following, Harry and Hermione were both absent at breakfast, and figuring no one would really notice with everything that was going on, Draco slipped into a seat next to Ron at the Gryffindor Table.

"How do you suppose he did it?" he asked in a whisper. "Invisibility Cloak?"

Ron shook his head. "He keeps saying it wasn't him, that he didn't put his name in the cup, but I mean, who else then, right?"

Draco nodded, his eyes darting around the hall. "I get him not telling me, but I'm a bit surprised he didn't confide in you. You're his best friend, after all."

Ron gave Draco a look like he didn't want to be reminded. "Sorry," Draco muttered. A bunch of Durmstrang students filtered in, a few Slytherins among them. "I'd better get back to my table. See you later, Weasley."

"Have a nice chat there?" Pansy Parkinson asked when Draco returned to the Slytherin Table. She looked up lazily from the magazine she was reading with an innocent smile.

"Just wanted to see if he knew anything about Potter getting chosen," Draco explained.

"You seem to have… grown quite chummy with that bunch lately, haven't you, Draco?"

"Means to an end," he mumbled in reply, avoiding Pansy's stare.

With a light laugh, Pansy turned back to her magazine. "You're absolutely right," she agreed, though Draco wasn't exactly sure what she understood from his words. Asking her about it would create inquiry though, so he let it go.

It became very obvious that Ron was on non-speaking terms with Harry once classes started. He spent most of his Care of Magical Creatures and Potions lessons looking sullen, pairing up with anyone but Harry and Hermione. Having never had such a deep friendship, Draco couldn't say he understood the hurt Ron was experiencing; his own anger had somewhat diminished, though envy always stirred inside him whenever the Tournament came up as a topic of discussion. Not to mention how Hermione had stuck by Harry: Did she believe he didn't put his name in the Goblet, or was she impressed that he'd somehow managed it? Or was her concern for him just that great?

"Here," Pansy said to Draco one afternoon as the Slytherins were on their way to Potions. She pinned a badge to the front of his robes. It read: _Support Cedric Diggory – the REAL Hogwarts Champion!_ "And watch this," she added, pressing the badge into his chest. The message changed: _POTTER STINKS_. She and the other Slytherins laughed, all of them pressing the badges Draco now realized they wore. "Brilliant, isn't it? We'll have the whole school wearing them by dinner time."

"Um yeah," Draco said slowly, staring at the badge on his chest. His hand clasped the S.P.E.W. badge he kept in his pocket. What would Hermione think if she saw him wearing a badge that wasn't hers? And what would the Slytherins think if he removed his ' _POTTER STINKS_ ' badge? Before he could think about it anymore, the Gryffindors joined them in the hallway outside the classroom.

"Oh, _very_ funny," Hermione said sarcastically, noting the badges the Slytherins were wearing. Her gaze lingered on Draco, her expression cold as she turned away.

"Don't you glare at Draco like that, Mudblood," Pansy snapped, brandishing her wand.

In Hermione's defense, Harry pointed his wand back at Pansy.

" _Densaugeo!_ " she screamed.

" _Furnunculus!_ " Harry yelled.

The spells hit each other mid-air and ricocheted off at angles – Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Pansy's hit Hermione. Both covered their faces with their hands, each making a whimpering sound from the affects. Goyle's face now resembled something that could be found in a book on poisonous fungi, while Hermione… Ron had run to her side, and was pulling her hands away from her face: her front teeth – already larger than average – were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, towards her chin. The Slytherins broke out into laughter.

"And what is all this noise about?" Professor Snape had arrived. Everyone started speaking at once but Snape pointed to Draco for an explanation.

"Pansy and Potter were duelling, and their spells bounced off each other and… Well, Goyle and Granger got hit."

Snape took one look at Goyle and sent him off to the hospital wing. Then, looking coldly at Hermione, he said, "I see no difference." The Slytherins erupted into laughter again – all but Draco. With her eyes brimming with tears, Hermione turned and ran; Draco watched until he couldn't see her anymore. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."

Professor Snape's injustice seemed to bring Harry and Ron back together, and for once, Draco was on their side. It wasn't the first time Snape was openly rude to the Muggle-born witch, but this time, Draco's blood was boiling like the potion he stoked in front of him. Halfway through the lesson, Harry was called away – something about a photograph for the _Daily Prophet_ – and just as quickly as Harry and Ron's friendship had been mended, it was shattered again. Ron refused to even look at Harry as he packed up his things and left.

The photograph and accompanying article appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ not long after, though it was less of a report on the Triwizard Tournament and more the Life and Times of Harry Potter. In it, the author, Rita Skeeter, had claimed Harry found love at Hogwarts with one stunningly beautiful Muggle-born girl who, ' _like Harry, is one of the top students in the school._ '

Draco threw the paper down on the table. Harry Potter wasn't even one of the top students in his grade, never mind the school! And that bit about them being in love? Yes, they were frequently together – all the time, in fact, but a couple? Draco would have laughed at the thought if he weren't so angry. He stomped out of the Great Hall and all the way to the library. He walked up and down the aisles aimlessly before he spotted Hermione and Harry, huddled in a corner, surrounded by books. Harry looked bored as he flipped a few pages of his book; Hermione, on the other hand, pored over three, reading out the words in a hushed whisper.

"You are vanting to speak to Harry Potter?"

Draco nearly hexed Viktor Krum, who now stood behind him. He glanced at the couple and nodded. "You are vanting to speak to him?" he repeated.

"No," Draco answered quickly.

"Then… you are friends to Ermy… Her-meen-oh…"

It took a minute for Draco to realize what Viktor was trying to say. "Hermione?"

Viktor nodded. "Yes. You are friends to Hermy-ninny?"

Draco only hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes."

Maybe it didn't mean very much to admit to Viktor Krum that he was friends with Hermione, but it felt really good to finally say it to someone out loud. "Yeah," Draco repeated, a small smile growing on his face. "We're friends. Potter and Weasley too – but they're having a bit of a disagreement over… you know what? Never mind." It was clear by Viktor's expression that he had no idea what Draco was talking about; he probably didn't even know who Ron Weasley was.

"So… you know if Her-om-ninny and Harry are – vat you say – couple?"

"Hermione and Harry? No. They're just friends. Good friends, but just friends," Draco said firmly. "Why do you ask?"

"I hear from other students: they say newspaper report Harry dating Muggle-born vitch. I guess her." He gestured toward Hermione – who was now leaning across the table, glaring at Harry who seemed disinterested in what she was trying to share with him. Wondering what Viktor meant behind his words, he considered how Durmstrang shared similar values as Slytherin, which probably meant they weren't particularly fond of Muggle-borns.

"Despite her blood status, she's a good witch," he defended. "Best in our year, actually – and too good for Potter, if you ask me. Not that they're a couple."

Viktor nodded slowly at Draco's words. He smiled at the Slytherin boy, and was just about to say something when a gaggle of giggling girls barged into the library. Spotting their target, they hurried over, nearly knocking Draco over to get to Viktor. Over the noise of the fawning females, Draco heard the distinct sound of Hermione's exasperated sigh, and turned just in time to see her and Harry leaving.

* * *

In no time, the First Task was upon them, and the Four Champions had to face a dragon a piece. Hidden in their nest of eggs was a golden egg that each Champion was required to get. Harry was the last to go, and he summoned his Firebolt to get the job done. Even Draco had to admit (though he'd never say it out loud to anyone) that Harry's flying was impressive; he was the quickest to retrieve the golden egg, and he had only sustained a minor injury. Hermione – who had found a seat next to Ron with the other Gryffindors – looked especially pleased, and Draco guessed she'd worked with Harry to practice that particular charm.

That evening, at dinner, Viktor sat next to Draco.

"He's good," the older student commented with a half-smile. "Harry Potter can fly."

The irony that both Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum were Quidditch Seekers was not lost on Draco – who was Slytherin's Seeker. He shrugged in response. "Anyone can fly – no doubt, you and Diggory might have been able to do just as well, but both of you had other options. I suspect Potter had none." Draco wasn't trying to be harsh, but it was more than likely the truth. Harry was good at flying, but it was just about all he was good at, and if he hadn't had Hermione's help with the Summoning Charm, his fellow Gryffindors would be visiting him in the hospital wing now, rather than cheering about him at the dinner table. "Any idea what your next task will be?" he asked, pressing the conversation forward.

"The egg is the clue, but for now, no ideas." Viktor looked around, then leaned in to Draco. "The egg, ven opened, makes noise – like broken violin." He made a face to show just how awful the sound was. "But there is time. Maybe I ask Hero-minny. I ask her some quvestions."

Draco raised an eyebrow and nearly let out a laugh. "I don't know if Hermione will help you, to be honest, Krum. She's one of Harry's best friends."

"But she is goot person. Nice person. No?"

"She's a very good person," Draco answered slowly, studying Viktor as he spoke. The Durmstrang student was difficult to read with his near constant surly expression; he wondered if Viktor might be approaching Hermione simply to tap into her intelligence; he wondered what his stand was when it came to issues of blood purity – and felt suddenly protective. "But she's also loyal – which might work against you, at least until she can trust you. And believe me, that doesn't come easy." Viktor didn't react and held Draco's gaze. "Look, I'll talk to her if I have the chance – but I'm not promising anything." With what Draco could only assume was a smile, Viktor nodded.

"So," Viktor then said, breaking a dinner roll apart with his hands. "I hear you too are Seeker. You play against Harry Potter?"

* * *

By the next morning, it was clear that Harry and Ron had made up, and the Golden Trio were back together. Draco was happy for them, but at the same time, a sense of envy returned as well. He did his best to ignore it though. The rest of term moved along quickly, and soon, it was cold, wintery, and Christmas was around the corner. The Yule Ball was announced: a traditional ball held Christmas evening as a part of the Triwizard Tournament. This was, of course, the reason for the dress robes. Draco was actually quite looking forward to the event: he had new robes (of course), and he was an excellent dancer (having taken lessons since he was a child). He also had in mind a particular witch he wanted to invite…

"Um, Draco…"

It was Astoria Greengrass, a Slytherin girl a couple years below Draco. Her face was terribly flush and Draco wondered if maybe she was sick. "Um, about the Yule Ball: You'll be attending, won't you?" she asked. But before Draco could reply, someone answered for him.

"Of course," said Pansy Parkinson, sneaking up from behind. She stood next to Draco, leaning into him slightly. "But not with you, you silly little second-year."

Astoria's face turned an even brighter red as she excused herself and left.

"What was that about?" Draco asked, stepping away from Pansy. He thought she should be kinder to her junior but knowing Pansy, there was a reason behind her words.

"Just girl stuff," she said with a shrug and a smile.

Draco was okay with that. "Alright, well I guess I'll see you later."

"Aren't you curious to know who _I'm_ going to the Yule Ball with?" she asked before he turned. Truthfully, Draco didn't care, but it was obvious she wanted to tell someone – probably to gloat. He looked at her and waited. With a smirk, she leaned in and whispered, "You'll see."

* * *

"And then she turned around and walked away before I could even say anything!" Draco crossed his arms and leaned back against the large tree trunk. To his side, Harry and Ron also leaned against the tree; they looked as bewildered as he felt. "I mean, what was the point of that?"

"Girls," Ron exhaled, shaking his head. "They're mental."

"So who are you taking to the Ball then?" Harry asked.

The cold air was quickly turning the boys' noses and cheeks red; they had decided to meet outside since they were less likely to be seen by the other students. Hermione was in the library – and Draco would have preferred to be there as well, but he needed to speak with Harry and Ron – alone.

"No one, yet," Draco answered. "You?"

Both of them shook their heads. Harry looked momentarily distracted, so quietly, he asked, "What about Hermione?"

The two Gryffindor boys looked at each other, then shrugged. "Never thought about Hermione, to be honest," Ron remarked. "She got right mad when we were talking about it the other night though, didn't she, Harry?" Harry nodded.

"What about your sister, Weasley?" Draco suggested.

"Go with my sister?" Ron reiterated, looking disgusted.

"Not you, you idiot. _Potter_. She's got a thing for you, doesn't she?"

Harry – again – seemed distracted, and apparently hadn't heard Draco's suggestion. "Huh?" he asked, looking between the two.

"Got someone in mind, Potter?" Draco asked with a bit of a smirk.

"N-no," Harry denied though looking flustered. "Just thinking… about the golden egg is all."

Draco didn't buy it, but he didn't press the matter further either. Ron rubbed his hands together from the cold, then clapped. "We've just got to grit our teeth and do it," he said. "When we get to dinner tonight, we'll all have partners – agreed?"

But that night, Draco never saw the other two at dinner. He had failed to ask anyone to the Ball – _especially_ the person he'd wanted to ask – but he _did_ have a partner. Sometime during the day, Imperia had found him and delivered a letter from his mother, informing him that she had made arrangements with Pansy Parkinson's mother for them to attend the Yule Ball together. Of course, Pansy was thrilled – this is what she had meant when they spoke earlier – but she was the only one. For the first time ever, he contemplated challenging his mother's decision, but his quill just wouldn't pen the words. And what would she think, learning her son wanted to take a Muggle-born to the Yule Ball instead of pure-blooded Pansy Parkinson?

There was a sudden crack in the air and, before Draco, appeared his former house-elf, Dobby. He looked half terrified, half angry as he handed Draco a letter.

"Dobby?"

"Harry Potter's friend is asking Dobby to deliver this to Young Master Draco," he said, his voice quivering slightly.

Draco reached out and took the letter; he opened it; it was two pages; on the first page, written in the familiar hand-writing Draco had grown very fond of, was one word: ' _APOLOGIZE_ '.

He'd read this in her voice, pictured her in his mind, and was still furious at the instruction. _Him_ , apologize to the _house-elf_? He looked up from the letter at Dobby, who stood very still and looked very uncomfortable. Draco flipped to the second page: ' _I've asked Dobby not to leave until you've apologized for his mistreatment when he served your family. It is the least you can do. This is a necessary step for your involvement in S.P.E.W. and would be a great example for others. And it would mean a great deal to me as it will prove to me that you are serious._ ' With a sigh, Draco sat down heavily on his bed. He stared from the letter to Dobby, then back to the letter. He was so mad, so indignant, and yet…

"Dobby," he said slowly. "Do you hate me? And our family?"

The house-elf looked at Draco with big, frightened eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again, then started tugging on his ears. "It's fine," Draco encouraged. "You don't serve us anymore. You can say what you like."

"Your – your father is a _bad, Dark wizard_ ," he stammered. He started beating his head with his fists; Draco waited until he stopped. "And your – Mistress Malfoy is always comparing Dobby to Dobby's mother – who Dobby is never to live up to!" His large eyes glossed over, and Draco worried he might start to cry, but the elf grew angry. "Dobby is not making tea as good as his mother! Dobby is not making the silver shine like his mother! Dobby is not folding the linens the same as his mother!" His fists were in balls as he thrashed them up and down through the air. "And you," he said next, narrowing his eyes at Draco. "You, Young Master Draco, is _spoiled_. You is mean and nasty to Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friends. But," he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Miss is telling Dobby that Young Master is now friends with Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friends."

"So… You're working here at Hogwarts now then?" Dobby nodded, tugging at the tea-cosy he wore on his head. "Do you like it?" He nodded again, a small smile on his face. "Good," Draco said, finding a smile on his own face as well. "Look, Dobby, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the way my family treated you, and for the way I treated you. You were a good house-elf. Tell you the truth, I think Mum really misses you. She's gone through more than a dozen housekeepers since – just fired the last one the other day, sadly. And she complained about your tea, but she always drank it, didn't she?"

"Mistress is throwing three out of four cups of tea on Dobby."

"Oh, well… I didn't think it was bad tea."

The house-elf smiled again. "If Dobby may speak, Dobby thinks Young Master Draco is becoming a good person – much better than Master and Mistress." He raised a fist to beat his head again, but stopped mid-way. "Dobby would be happy to serve Malfoy Manor again if Young Master grows up good like Harry Potter – and is paying Dobby as well."

Draco didn't like the bit about being like Harry, but the little house-elf's words brought a sense of pride to him. He tried to imagine what Hermione would think, having a paid house-elf take care of the… His face turned red. Thankfully, no one else was around.

"Yeah, well. Sorry again, Dobby," he said quickly. "You can go now – I mean, whenever you want. But, you can go."

"Dobby will make sure Young Master's tea is the way Young Master likes it," the elf said with a bow. "And," he added, looking very hard at his former master. "Dobby is always watching."


	8. Part 8

According to Harry, only a handful of people usually stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays, but with the Yule Ball being held on Christmas evening that year, nearly the whole school had signed up to stay. Draco had heard from Harry and Ron how they'd both gotten turned down by the girls they'd asked, and were now attending the Ball with the Patil sisters, Parvati and Padma. While he was glad he wasn't turned down by the girl he'd wanted to ask to the Ball, Draco was upset that he hadn't even had the chance to ask her.

"Why do you look so sullen?" Pansy asked Draco as they walked out of the common room together. She wore a very frilly dress robe that was pale pink. He supposed it looked okay on her, though he hadn't spent a lot of time actually looking at her. As they walked into the Entrance Hall, his eyes scanned over the sea of people gathered there. He easily picked out Ron by his red-hair and maroon dress robes (' _Oh, he got rid of the lace somehow_ ') and Harry, who was with him. Unfortunately, Hermione was not with them. Soon, Professor McGonagall called the Champions together. Pansy tugged on his arm and said, "Oh look Draco: it's Viktor Krum!"

Draco turned his head just slightly in the direction Pansy indicated – and nearly tripped over himself when he saw his date: It was Hermione. And she was breath-taking – literally; Draco forgot to breathe as he watched Hermione walk over to Harry to chat, as her ethereal, not-quite-blue-not-quite-purple dress floated about her, as Viktor took her hand and whispered into her ear.

"Is that Granger?" Pansy asked, taking Draco's arm. "I can't believe she got Viktor Krum to take her to the Yule Ball! I wonder what underhanded, sneaky trick she used to –"

But Draco was done hearing Pansy talk. He gave her such a scathing look, she was startled into silence. "You're entitled to your opinions but I'm not interested in hearing them," he remarked before leading her into the Great Hall with the other students. They took their seats with a hodgepodge of other students – no one Draco really wanted to spend an evening with, but he'd had a lot of experience making polite conversation in a formal setting, and found himself going through the motions almost automatically. When it was time for the Champions to make their entry, he stood along with everyone else, and positioned himself so he'd get a clear view. He watched as Hermione walked by on Viktor's arm, tried to catch her eye, but she was focused on her destination; he thought she looked nervous, and something inside him grew incredibly heavy.

When dinner was over, Dumbledore cleared the tables and chairs away with a wave of his wand, leaving the floor clean and open for the dance. The Champions danced first with the rest of the student body and guests watching; Draco's eyes followed Hermione around the floor as she was swept around by Viktor – who looked very happy, he noted.

"Draco." It was Pansy again. "You've been staring at her _all night_." She sounded irritated, but there was a hint of something else in her voice: was it concern? "You might be smitten – I don't know – but you have to remember: she's Muggle-born, a Mudblood."

Draco faced Pansy sharply; never had this term been so offensive to him. "Who cares," he replied, speaking in a hoarse whisper. "Viktor is just as esteemed – from Durmstrang no less, and no one has anything to say about him being with her."

"Viktor Krum is not one of us," Pansy said slowly. "Draco: you're part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. That isn't something you turn your back on for some girl."

In pairs, other people joined the Champions in their dance, drifting about the floor to the music. Pansy stood by Draco, watching the dance among the thinning audience. "I'm just trying to look out for you, Draco," Pansy continued. "Look, I'll admit: she's very pretty tonight, but she's not for you."

At that moment, Hermione found Draco through the crowd, and she smiled, rolling her eyes like she thought this was all very unbelievable. "Perhaps," Draco said quietly in response to Pansy. "But that's not for you to decide." The song ended, and amidst the applause, Draco walked out.

* * *

The school had undergone a makeover for the Yule Ball: passing through the front entrance, Draco found himself walking in an enchanted rose garden, dimly lit by fluttering fairy lights; in the distance, he could hear a water fountain.

"Not staying for the dance?" Draco looked about and saw Professor Snape emerge from the shadows. "Miss Parkinson must be disappointed – as will your mother be." A fairy wafted down toward Snape; he shot it back with a short wave of his wand. "This is a once in a lifetime chance," Professor Snape started to say, turning away from Draco. "Youth is more temporary than you understand, and by the time you do understand, you will be old." The Professor paused, and Draco thought – maybe, he'd heard a sigh, but he couldn't be sure with the swelling music and the splashing of the water fountain. "With this in mind, perhaps you should live your youth in a manner in which – when you are old – you can look back with fondness rather than regret."

This was possibly the most un-Snape-like thing Draco had ever heard the Professor say; he wondered if the garden hadn't been enchanted to charm students who'd left the party early to return by wistfully wise words from an apparition that resembled a teacher they respected. But a moment later, Snape blasted a rose-bush, and two people jumped from behind its shadow, shrieking. The Professor deducted House points for each of the students, then turned back to Draco. He didn't say anything, but fixed him with one last hard look before walking away, his long black cloak billowing behind him.

Draco wasn't sure he truly grasped what Professor Snape had said to him, but he walked back up the stairs and into the school, past pockets of students who were filing out of the Great Hall, and back into the Yule Ball. The Weird Sisters were playing an upbeat song, and the crowd bobbed around, making it difficult for Draco to see through all the movement, but he pressed on until he saw her: a witch standing near the front, next to the stage, wearing robes that were more for business than a ball: the Weird Sisters's manager. Having been taught to pay attention to these sort of details, Draco had seen her before at other events he'd attended, and approached her confidently. They exchanged a few words that couldn't be heard over the noise of the music and dancing; Draco pressed something shiny into her hand, and with a smile, she discreetly slipped onto the stage and whispered something in one of the band member's ear. The upbeat song blended into a slower, more melodic tune, and the crowd of dancers started to pair up. Draco wove through the students until he found her, standing near the edge, alone.

"Come on," he said to Hermione, holding out his hand to her. She looked at him, stunned, but slowly, she put her hand in his. He led her out onto the floor – right to the centre; other students were staring, he knew it, but he didn't care. He pulled her into him and held her close with one arm as they started to dance.

"Draco," Hermione breathed, looking around. "Everyone is looking." The gap between them and the other dancers had widened as nearly every pair of eyes watched them.

"It's because you're stunning, Granger," he replied with a smile. He swung her out, twirled her, then pulled her back. Hermione laughed, and it was the sweetest sound Draco had heard all evening.

Just then, Professor Dumbledore came waltzing by with Professor Vector; he looked at Draco and Hermione with his sparkling blue eyes and smiled. "That was quite the move, Mr Malfoy," he said, not so quietly. He winked, then spun Professor Vector like a tornado, catching her in a low dip; a wave of 'ooohs' erupted from the crowd that now stood watching. Professors Dumbledore and Vector continued with their impressive ballroom routine, drawing the attention of the crowd. But they hadn't distracted everyone: Pansy elbowed her way to where Draco danced with Hermione. She looked between the two incredulously.

"I'm sure whatever you have to say, Pansy, can wait," Draco said when Pansy opened her mouth to speak. For a moment, Pansy just stood there, staring daggers at them both.

"Well," she said, crossing her arms. "You might not listen to me, but I'm sure your mother will." And with that, she turned and walked off.

"Sorry about that," Draco apologized, picking up as if nothing had happened.

"Are you sure about this?" Hermione asked quietly.

He looked down into Hermione's beautiful brown-eyes: he had never felt more sure in his life. "You said once that I would have to make a choice – and that's what I'm doing. I'm choosing you, Hermione."

Her eyes widened and it looked like she wanted to speak, but Draco didn't want her to say anything – didn't want her to correct him, to refute him, or to reject him – so he wrapped both arms around her and –

"Wait. What do you mean, you're choosing me?" Hermione asked. Her cheeks were pink and she looked a bit flustered.

"I mean that… You're not supposed to analyze these things, Granger!"

"But I don't understand," she argued.

"You're the smartest girl in the damn school and you don't _understand_?"

"That's right," Hermione snapped. "There are some things I simply cannot grasp – like you. Now what exactly do you mean by saying that you're choosing me – because it shouldn't be about me."

Draco took a moment to compose himself; part of him wanted to get upset at Hermione for ruining the moment, but the other part of him – the part that was growing stronger and confident of himself – knew that some things needed a clear explanation. "I'm choosing to put you before myself. I'm choosing to stand by you and the things you find important. I'm choosing to face your ideals, and reconsider the values I was raised to bear, with an open-mind."

Hermione's whole face was pink now and she looked on the verge of laughter or tears; maybe both. "And," Draco continued, "I said I was choosing you, because you are the catalyst for this change."

"Why me?"

"I wonder that myself," Draco answered with a smirk. Hermione punched him in the shoulder and they both laughed. The song ended, and Viktor approached them; he'd been waiting while they danced, but he apparently wanted his partner back. Reluctantly, Draco released Hermione; Viktor shook his hand, then led Hermione away to the refreshment table.

* * *

Late that evening, when Draco returned to his room, he was greeted with tense silence from his roommates. "Look," he said, taking off his outer robe and hanging it in his wardrobe. "We're not children anymore; it's time we started thinking for ourselves, and making decisions based on what we want – not our parents. It's not about being ungrateful, it's about being conscientious and aware of what's going on around us, and choosing how to act."

"Though one has to wonder how you'd be if you hadn't fallen for that Muggle-born girl," Theodore Nott commented. His tone was not malicious, but Draco couldn't help but feel he was being looked down on.

"Though Granger plays a part, it's not about her. Things are different now: the Dark Lord is gone – he's been gone for thirteen years. And the rumours: how credible are they, really? Are we supposed to plan for the future based on hearsay?"

"What – what do you suggest we do then?" Gregory Goyle asked, looking befuddled. For the first time in their long friendship, Draco looked upon his cumbersome companion with sympathy.

"I'm not going to tell you what to do or think – no one should be doing that for you. It's time to mull over it, Goyle, and decide for yourself. You too, Crabbe," he added, glancing at the other boy who was staring at his socks.

"And what if we don't see things in your light?" Blaise asked.

"I'm not expecting you to date a Muggle-born or even a blood traitor, if that's what you're wondering, Blaise," Draco replied with a smirk. "Your business is your own; I'm not going to meddle. I only ask that you respect my decisions as well."

"You were always the biggest bully out of the lot of us," Theodore noted, regarding Draco. "So if you don't pick a fight with us, I don't think anyone will pick a fight with you."

The reaction was more than Draco had expected, and he was glad he didn't have to duel any of them into leaving him alone on the matter.

"Well," Blaise said, a smile coming over his face. "Pansy might pick a fight with you. She was pretty upset when she saw you dancing with the Mud – ah, Granger."

"I think 'pretty upset' might be an understatement. She threatened to tell my mother."

All of the boys made a face that pretty much summed up Draco's growing anxiety about having to deal with his mother. But that was for another day; he had danced with Hermione Granger – had held her hand, smelled her hair, and for what remained of that day, he wanted to savour that.


	9. Part 9

Nothing could bring Draco down from his emotional high: not the fact that Hermione had been taken for the Second Task as what Viktor Krum would most 'sorely miss'; not how Hermione got teased about being the Bulgarian's object of affection; not even how Rita Skeeter made a scandal, claiming Hermione was stringing along the hearts of both Viktor _and_ Harry. None of these things mattered because he had danced with Hermione, felt her breathing as he held her, saw the way she looked at him, and how she smiled. Even Hermione's dedication to helping Harry with the Triwizard Tournament didn't dampen Draco's mood, because, true to his word about supporting Hermione with the things she found important, he helped however he could too.

But one thing did managed to break Draco's spirit: The return of the Dark Lord.

The news had been nearly as surreal as dancing with Hermione – except on the very opposite end of the spectrum. It happened during the Third Task; Harry and Cedric had been taken away to some graveyard where the Dark Lord was revived through Dark magic. He'd killed Cedric and tried to kill Harry, but with some luck (though, considering the events, not much) Harry managed to get back.

"Your dad was there," Harry said, very quietly one afternoon as the four of them sat around on the school grounds. Draco had been playing a game of chess with Ron while Hermione read quietly by Harry's side. It was the first time in many days Harry had said anything regarding that evening. The two boys looked at each other, and in Harry's green-eyes, Draco saw the truth.

"Yeah," he answered, just as quietly. "I didn't know but… I'm not surprised." In the silence that followed, Ron's Knight took his Rook. "Look, Potter… I'll understand if you can't trust me after today – and I don't really expect you to, but you have to know that I would never do anything to hurt any of you." His eyes moved to Hermione, who was no longer reading. Harry didn't say anything, but nodded slowly. In his next move, Ron's Queen cornered Draco's, forcing him to sacrifice his Knight to save the King.

"It'd have been a lot easier if we could just hate you, plain and simple," said Ron, observing the board. "But now that we're – well, friends, you're not alone."

"Oh Ronald," Draco said in a tone of mock affection. "That's so sweet." But in all honesty, Draco really appreciated Ron's words, and he expressed this through a sincere smile following his sarcasm.

"Oh you like that do you, Malfoy," Ron returned with a smirk. "Well you're going to love this then: Checkmate."

* * *

Before the end of term, Professor Dumbledore addressed the student body – with the truth: that the Dark Lord had returned. He encouraged unity to fight discord created by this news, and reminded everyone that there might soon be a time to choose between what is right, and what is easy. Many of the Slytherin House carried hushed conversations with each other throughout dinner, discussing the news, discussing family, discussing action. No one spoke to Draco, at least, not until Theodore Nott moved to the seat next to him.

"Funny how we were just talking about this," he commented without the slightest hint of humour.

"I don't feel this is very funny at all," Draco returned with similar sentiment. "What are you going to do?" he asked, knowing he might not get an answer.

Theodore shrugged in response. "Go home. Wait, and see. What about you?"

"The same, I suppose," he answered. But there was one thing he had to do before he left Hogwarts, and that was visit the Headmaster.

After learning where the Headmaster's office was, Draco immediately paid Professor Dumbledore a visit. He found the gargoyle on the third floor, provided the password, then climbed the moving, spiral stairs once the statue jumped aside. When he reached the door, he raised his fist to knock, but before his hand fell, a loud, clear voice sounded through the thick, wooden door.

"You may enter, Draco," Professor Dumbledore said.

There were a great many things in the Headmaster's office, and Draco might have been interested in exploring them on another occasion, but he was on a mission. "I was just having some tea; would you care to join me?" the Headmaster asked kindly.

"You have to protect them," Draco demanded, ignoring Dumbledore's invitation. "Granger and Potter; if anyone can do it, you – the _greatest_ wizard in the world – can. _And you must_."

Professor Dumbledore regarded Draco very carefully, studying him for a long while with his piercing blue eyes. "And why must I?" It was clear the old man was testing Draco; many long years would pass before the young boy would understand why it seemed older people took great lengths of time to act, even in moments of urgency. "Oh, I know why _I_ would want them protected, but I'm most curious to know why _you_ would. You are welcome to have a seat – and a cup of tea, if you'd like."

But Draco would not sit. "Because," he shouted, walking away from the Headmaster's desk. "Hermione Granger is Muggle-born: her parents can't protect her – they probably don't even know how dire the situation is! If the Dark Lord finds them – and he will, they'll be dead. All of them." Draco turned and his pace quickened. Just the thought of Hermione dead made his heart sink. "And Potter; if I know the Minister for Magic – and despite only having met the man once, from everything I've read on him and his time in office, I'm pretty sure he'll make Potter public enemy number one; he'll make him out to be a liar and an attention seeker. He's also got no parents and no one to protect him; I don't know what good he'll serve, but I know this much: Potter cannot die."

There was another pause with only the sound of the teaspoon stirring itself in Dumbledore's tea to prove that time had not stopped. "And what of Ronald Weasley?"

It was true that Draco had discounted Ron for most of their short friendship, and with some shame, he had to admit it was due to his pure-blood status – that is, Ron's. "Weasley is pure-blood," he said with some hesitation. "He's from an old wizarding family, even if they are blood traitors. His father works for the Ministry, as does his brother, Percy. The eldest works for Gringotts as a Curse Breaker, the second works with dragons. Fred and George Weasley are possibly the most innovative and ingenious wizards this generation has known; the youngest, I hear is quite talented, and their mother – like my own – is a force to be reckoned with under the right circumstances. At the very least, the Death Eaters will not be looking to spill pure blood just yet, which, if nothing else, will buy them time."

"You are well informed," Dumbledore commented with a slight smile.

"You will protect them, will you not, Professor?" Draco repeated.

"I will do what I can," he finally answered. "I take it you believe Harry's story then?"

Falling heavily into a chair opposite the Headmaster, Draco took a seat. "Of course I believe him," he answered gruffly as Dumbledore poured him a cup of tea. "I, most of all, know it is true. There have been rumours, but I took them as just that and nothing more. I was a fool."

"You could not have known what would happen, Draco."

"We should have spoken sooner, Professor. You and I. I should have come to you but…"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said slowly. "And yet, your coming to me now appears optimal. You see, you hold a great deal of influence, Draco, and have the opportunity to shape how this war unfolds."

"That's a great deal of pressure," Draco remarked.

"Indeed it is, but that, Draco, is the truth. The war before us will not be fought for old men like myself, but the young, like yourself, and Miss Granger, and Ronald Weasley, and Harry. And what sort of world you hope for succeeding this battle will dictate how you fight."

It was Draco's turn to ponder Dumbledore's words in silence. After a few moments, Draco got to his feet. "Thanks for the tea, Professor," he said quietly. "I trust that you'll do what you can and what you see best; I trust that you will protect Hermione and Harry."

Dumbledore did not respond to this, but instead asked, "And what of yourself?"

Draco looked the Headmaster in the eyes. "I'm returning to my family." He turned toward the door, each footstep growing heavier as he walked. Before the door closed behind him, Professor Dumbledore left Draco with one more thought to ponder: "There is family you are born into, and family you choose, Draco. There is not one more true than the other."

* * *

For the long train ride home, Draco sat – for the first time ever, with Hermione, Harry, and Ron. At first, Imperia and Hedwig had to be detained to their cages as they hooted loudly and violently at each other, but when Pigwidgeon started to act up in the excitement, the two united in an act to show the young upstart how proper owls behave.

Sometime into the journey, Hermione shared how she'd discovered the reporter, Rita Skeeter, was an unregistered Animagi, and used this technique to gather all sorts of information through eavesdropping. She had just taken out a jar containing Skeeter in her Animagi form (a large beetle with green markings that resembled the glasses she wore) to show the others when their compartment door slid open.

"Oh here you are," Pansy Parkinson said, looking down at Draco from the doorway. Her eyes swept over the others disdainfully. "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in our compartment," she offered to him.

"Yeah I'd much rather be here, thanks," Draco replied.

"You heard him; get out of here, Death Eater Junior," Ron sneered. He grasped his wand as he looked from Pansy to Crabbe and Goyle, who loomed behind her.

"Watch your words, blood traitor," she snapped in return, taking out her wand. "What's the point of getting cozy with the ones the Dark Lord will get rid of first?" she asked, eyes back on Draco, half-furious, half-pleading. "You're making a huge mistake!"

"Malfoy said he'd rather be here," Harry repeated, getting to his feet, wand in hand. "Now, get – out."

"Oh Potter. You'll be the first to go – well, second – Diggory was the first now, wasn't he?"

There was a loud bang like a box of fireworks had been set off in the compartment, and when everyone's vision stopped being spotted from all the light from the blaze of spells, they found Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle lying unconscious on the ground.

"Thought we'd see what those three were up to," said Fred, matter-of-factly stepping onto Goyle, and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Crabbe as he followed Fred inside.

"Who used the _Furnunculus_ curse?" George asked, looking down at Pansy.

"Me," said Harry.

"I think it's rather an improvement on her looks; she should really thank you – when she wakes up, that is."

He and Fred pushed the bodies into the hallway, then closed the door. "Nice to be on this side of the door than the other, eh, Draco?" he then asked, eyeing the younger boy, the look in his eye as threatening as it was playful.

The atmosphere became increasingly light-hearted with the addition of Fred and George in the compartment; not only did they initiate the best consecutive games of Exploding Snap Draco had ever played, but they opened up about how Ludo Bagman had swindled them out of their savings (which they had used in a bet with Bagman, at the World Cup – won, but then got paid out, unknowingly, in Leprechaun gold – which vanishes, by nature).

"Found out we're not the only ones who Bagman owes money: Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well – turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins; borrowed loads of gold off them. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?"

"How?" asked Harry.

"He put a bet on you, mate," Fred answered. "Put a big bet on you to win the Tournament. Bet against the goblins."

"So _that's_ why he kept trying to help me win!" said Harry, realization dawning on him.

"But the goblins say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman made a run for it; disappeared after the Third Task." With a deep sigh, George started dealing out the cards again.

They played until the train pulled into King's Cross station. Everyone unloaded their things and struggled past the three, hexed Slytherin students, who still lay unconscious in the hallway.

"You'll write to me again this summer, won't you?" Hermione asked Draco as they shuffled along toward the exit. "No matter – no matter what happens with your family, you'll keep in contact?"

Of course Draco wanted to – there was no greater joy for him than reading Hermione's letters, except maybe to spend time with her in person, but the Dark Lord was back, and while that complicated things for just about everyone in the Wizarding World, it complicated things for him a little more personally.

"I'll try my best," he replied with a small smile.

"Promise," Hermione persisted, grabbing Draco's hand. The corridor was very busy with students filing out with their things, and Hermione and Draco were forced to stand very close to each other. She barely spoke above a whisper, but Draco had no problem hearing her articulation. "Promise me, Draco."

"I can't make a promise I can't keep," he said.

"Then keep it," Hermione urged.

As if it were that simple.

Somebody pushed by them, and Hermione stepped into Draco, and as she did, she kissed him on the cheek. It was so soft, so quick, Draco wasn't sure it had actually happened, but when he looked back at Hermione, her cheeks were turning violently pink. "Promise me," she said again.

Slowly, Draco nodded. "I promise, Hermione."


	10. Part 10

Last summer, Draco's father had not been present to pick him up from the station. This summer, neither of his parents were there. Instead, an elderly-looking woman who claimed to be the Malfoy's housekeeper met him; she had with her, a hand-written letter from Narcissa, explaining to Draco that there were matters that required her immediate attention and that she would see him when he arrived home.

"Come on now," the old housekeeper said with a rather youthful smile, as she ushered Draco into the waiting car. Once inside the car, the housekeeper turned into his Aunt Andromeda. "Hello Draco," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "How was school?"

"Why isn't Mum here to pick me up?"

His Aunt's smile was replaced with a look of concern. "She's barely left the house since the New Year, Draco. There have been some rumours – and once those started spreading, she fired the housekeeper, cancelled all her functions, refused to see any guests, and pretty much shut herself in. She begged me to look after the house for her, but only in disguise so that your father wouldn't know."

"Is everything alright?" Draco asked, his concern growing.

"You'll have to see for yourself when you get home."

The house was so different. The windows were shut, curtains drawn, doors were closed; it felt cold and empty, and the least like home in Draco's fifteen years. He found his mother in the kitchen – and immediately knew something was terribly wrong, because Narcissa Malfoy was _never_ in the kitchen.

"Mum?" he called, approaching cautiously.

Narcissa sat at a small table by the windows, where the staff normally sat for their meals. She was well-dressed, well-groomed, holding herself with poise as she stared out into the grounds – a good thing, a good sign that she hadn't lost her mind. Still staring out the window, Narcissa lifted a large glass of red wine to her lips, and drank slowly.

"Hello," she said to her son, without looking at him. She carefully put the glass back on the table.

"Is everything okay?" Draco asked, stepping closer until he was right next to the table. He waited patiently for his mother to respond, to turn and look at him.

"Everything is _not_ okay," she answered in a low voice. "You of all people know that, don't you?" Finally, she turned. "After all these years, after everything I've done for you – given you… You go and do _this_."

Now Draco was confused. He had thought his mother's anxiety was from the Dark Lord's return, but clearly, it was not. "What are you talking about, Mum?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"You and that Muggle-born, Mudblood girl!" Narcissa answered angrily. She got to her feet and towered over her son. "Pansy Parkinson told me you were dating that awful, vile –"

"Mother!" Draco interrupted loudly. "Her name is Hermione Granger, and –"

"So it's true?" Narcissa's voice was growing shrill, and Draco worried if he didn't calm her down, she might attract dogs to the manor.

"What's true," he said, speaking slower and in a calm, confident tone. "Is that I rejected Pansy Parkinson." He pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. " _You_ were the one who taught me that some women are only interested in the family name. Perhaps, now that she cannot be a part of it, she means to disgrace it."

For a moment, Narcissa carefully considered her son's words. "You're quite right," she exhaled, her expression relaxing. Draco tried not to smile as his mother then drew herself to her full height, and with a raised head, she turned from the kitchen and marched out – presumably, to her study, where she would rip every remaining shred of dignity, and drain every ounce of credibility, from the family name of Parkinson, leaving them hopeless and destitute among the upper class of Wizarding Society – pure-blood or not. Because _no one_ messed with the Malfoys.

True to form, Narcissa hosted a brunch the following morning, with all the high society women in attendance. She excused her behaviour with some trifle lie, and in the same breath, decimated the rumours surrounding her son. Draco made his token appearance, looking proper and polished, as if to remind all the women how perfect he was, and how those rumours were just ludicrous. He even overheard Blaise Zabini's mother saying how she was going to have a talk with her son as soon as she got home, to make sure he kept his distance from Pansy.

By tea time that afternoon, all was right in the Malfoy house. Well, except for one thing.

"Where's father?" Draco asked, looking at his mother over his cup of tea. He wasn't sure if she had heard the news about the Dark Lord's return; he certainly hadn't heard it floating about as a topic of conversation during the brunch, though he knew a handful of them to be in the Dark Lord's circle.

"Away," his mother answered. "But we'll be meeting him in Paris tonight."

"Tonight?" Draco repeated, nearly choking on his tea. "Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?"

"Because it's a surprise, dearest," his mother said sweetly, though he caught a hint of something behind her smile – a tension, an uncertainty, as if she were holding her breath. Draco wondered if this was a surprise for his mother as well.

That night, after a late dinner, Narcissa relieved her sister of the housekeeping duties, and after she Disapparated from the property, she gathered their things in preparation for their trip. "Now remember," she said to Draco as she tossed Floo Powder into the large fireplace. "Speak clearly and hold onto your luggage tightly. Your father should be waiting for our arrival."

She checked the time before gently pushing Draco into the tall, green flames. The boy looked one last time at his mother before saying, "Saint James Paris." The flames flickered and danced around Draco, enveloping him in their heatless tendrils. His mother disappeared from sight as he was whisked away through the Floo Network, and he emerged in the grand hearth of the Saint James Paris, specially located in a foyer dedicated to their Wizarding patrons. He stepped out and was immediately greeted by one of the hotel staff.

"Young Master Malfoy," he said with a polite smile and slight bow. "Right on time." They waited a moment more for Draco's mother to join them, and then, together, they were led to a drawing room where Lucius Malfoy sat waiting. He stood to greet them, squeezing his son's shoulder affectionately and giving his wife a kiss.

"My but you're in a good mood, Lucius," Narcissa said with a smile as she took her seat. Draco and his father sat after, and he had to admit, his father did seem rather happy.

"I'm in Paris with my family, staying at one of our favourite establishments," he said with a wide smile. A waiter brought Narcissa a glass of wine and Draco a sparkling mineral water. "And," Lucius continued, raising his glass to his family. "The Dark Lord is back."

"What?" Narcissa breathed, her voice barely audible to even Draco, who sat next to her. Her eyes scanned the room before she sat forward, leaning toward her husband. "He's... back?"

"Yes, my love," Lucius replied, taking a deep drink from his glass. "To his full power and glory. The days of old are upon us, Narcissa, and this time, we will not fail." He turned to Draco and raised his glass again. "To the future."

Draco raised his glass as well, though his expression remained blank. "To the future," he echoed.

* * *

From the balcony in their suite, Draco watched his parents take a long walk in the garden. His mother hadn't shared in his father's joy at the news of the Dark Lord's return – neither had Draco, but it appeared his father was going to divide and conquer, starting with his wife. With a sigh, he turned back into the room and wandered about; Imperia had been left at home to leisurely roam the family grounds, which meant Draco had no other means to communicate with his friends. He glanced momentarily at the device Muggles used to contact each other – what was it called? A telephone? He shook his head. Hermione had tried once to explain to him how it worked, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around the Muggle invention.

When his parents returned later that evening, his mother looked considerably happier.

"Your mother tells me those rumours about the Mudblood girl are just that: rumours," Lucius said with an expression of mild amusement. "Hell hath no fury like that of a scorned woman," he added with a cold laugh. "But there will be others – more suitable to uphold the Malfoy name."

"Let me guess, a pure-blood," Draco remarked, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

"Of course," his father answered. "There is no guesswork, Draco."

"Just a figure of speech, Dad."

"I would be pleased if that were true," he replied. With a wry smile, he put his hands on his son's shoulders, gripping them firmly. "Tomorrow morning, we will have a chat, man-to-man, father-to-son. But for tonight, your mother's mood has finally settled, and we don't want to upset that now, do we?" Draco shook his head in response. "That's a good boy. Good night then, Draco."

* * *

The following morning, Draco woke up at his leisure and found his father reading the Prophet in the living room. The young man noticed that there was no headline about the return of the Dark Lord.

"Where's Mum?" Draco asked.

"I arranged a day at the spa for her," his father answered with a smile. "Despite all the potions, salves, and Magical concoctions she has access to, she still enjoys those silly Muggle treatments."

"She's going to miss them then, when the Dark Lord achieves world domination."

Expecting reprimand from his father, Draco was surprised that he smiled kindly at him instead – kindly, and a bit patronizing as well. "My boy," he said, shaking his head a little. "You misunderstand if you think the Dark Lord seeks to eradicate Muggle-kind; he simply seeks to enforce a hierarchy that properly positions Wizards above others – and are we not superior?" The question was rhetorical; Draco knew that, and kept his mouth shut. "Yes, Muggles will die, and while unfortunate, it is necessary. Sacrifice is essential to change and the greater good."

It was a heavy topic to get into on an empty stomach, but Draco knew it couldn't be avoided. "Giving up a spa treatment is very different than giving up your life," he pointed out. "Or someone you love."

The kindness and warmth that exuded from his father started to diminish; his eyes grew colder as he regarded his son. "Draco, you're still very young, and your world is so small. You're so infatuated with her – so sure she's good for you, but she's not. She will break your heart. And that is the last thing your mother and I want for you."

"Yes, what you want is to marry me off to some pure-blood girl, to live unhappily in a world built on death and despair."

"Open your eyes!" His father said with a voice that was not loud, but reverberated within Draco. "The world already is built on death and despair, but this time, it will be to our benefit – we will be at the top, where we belong."

"That's not the sort of world I want!" Draco argued.

"The world _you want_ does not exist – it _will_ not, or do you not understand that? If she doesn't come to loathe you for the crimes of our people, she _will_ die at the hands of them; and if you don't grow up and understand that we don't always get what we want, then _you_ will be crushed, and…" Lucius Malfoy took a deep breath before finishing. "And that would break your mother and I." A sadness Draco had never known his father to be capable of saturated his words as he spoke, and he understood – perhaps for the first time, how deeply his father loved him. "You are a prince," he said softly. "A prince, Draco – among pure-bloods. You're the heir to the Malfoy name – _and_ to the Noble House of Black. In your veins runs the most ancient and pure blood our people have ever known. You are meant for greatness. And that is all your mother and I have ever wanted for you."

It was difficult to further argue with his father. Draco knew all too well the voracity of the pure-blood families who stood alongside his own, knew the bitterness of having their entitlement to rule supreme stripped from them that woeful night the Dark Lord met Harry Potter; he knew it because he had felt it himself.

"Well," his father said, folding up the newspaper. "Quite a start to the day, I'd say. I had planned on taking you out to choose a birthday present."

"Dad, I'm…" He wasn't sorry – no, he was sure of where he stood, but he did feel bad. "…I'm starving."

Despite the seriousness of the words they had exchanged, the clashing of their world views, and the impending change that would inevitably hit their world like a meteor striking the Earth, Lucius Malfoy chuckled. "Of course you are."

* * *

The Malfoys stayed in Paris for two weeks. Draco's parents took him to the Wizarding District of Paris where he received new goggles and boots for Quidditch, as well as a handsome watch for his birthday. They lived extravagantly during their vacation, and it was clear to Draco that this was a celebration of better things his parents were sure to come. His mother, whose wardrobe had been completely refreshed with the finest of Parisian fashion, had been won over by her husband's words and gifts, and was now convinced that the Dark Lord's return was a good thing. Draco had done his best to keep in touch with things at home by sending letters to his friends from the Paris Owl Post Office. To his surprise, he received the most correspondence from Harry, and though his letters were always short and never about anything of importance, he was consistent. Every so often, he would ask something about the Dark Lord – if Draco had heard anything about his movements, his plans, or any under the radar mumblings – all of which Draco hadn't. In turn, Draco would ask about how Harry was holding up, to which the reply was always " _Fine._ "

After returning home, Draco arranged to meet Hermione in Diagon Alley. The letters were fine, but he wanted to see her. To his surprise, she did not meet with him alone; she had with her, a chaperone: Remus Lupin.

"Professor Lupin," Draco greeted politely, shaking the man's hand. "How have you been?" he asked, but, looking at his tired expression and patchy robes, he guessed not quite as well as he'd hoped for his former teacher.

"I've been well," Lupin answered with a thin smile. "I hope you don't mind my being here with Hermione today; it was uhh, suggested that you not meet on your own."

Words normal teenagers could expect from normal guardians, but Draco knew Lupin's presence held a much greater meaning: that Draco was not to be trusted. But he wasn't offended; on the contrary, Draco was pleased to see that the Headmaster had taken his request to have his friends protected seriously.

They talked first about school: how they were finding the new material for their Fifth year, how their continuing preparations for Ordinary Wizarding Level exams were coming along. The conversation then moved onto more serious matters.

"How is Potter?" Draco asked, lowering his voice.

"I don't really know," Hermione answered sadly. "We've been writing him, of course, but we haven't been allowed to say much – and I know that must be so frustrating for him."

"Not allowed?" Draco questioned, glancing at Lupin.

"By Professor Dumbledore," Hermione explained, speaking even more quietly. She, too, glanced at Lupin. "There are a lot of things going on, things we can't talk about."

"Not with me, I understand, but not even with Potter?"

"It's what Dumbledore wants," Lupin said with finality. He took a sip of his coffee and put his book on the table. "He may not have objected to Hermione meeting with you, Draco, but I'm afraid – going on my personal judgement – that this conversation cannot continue."

"My father has been disappearing for days at a time," Draco said quickly. "And they've been planning several gatherings with various members of the Ministry – important people, maybe even including the Minister."

"Draco," Lupin said slowly, meeting the younger man's grey-eyes. "This conversation cannot continue on our part or yours. We will not compromise your safety –"

"But I want to help." Draco looked from Professor Lupin to Hermione. "There's not much I can offer, but I do want to help."

With a loud sigh, Professor Lupin sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his greying hair. "It's just that… you're still children," he said at length. "Both of you, and Harry, and Ron. This is not yet your war to fight."

"But –"

"No," Lupin said forcefully. "The matter is closed."

Hermione exchanged looks with Draco. He knew – despite the one hundred and one thoughts racing through her mind – there was nothing more she could do or say, and his heart ached to see her look so helpless.

"Professor, I have a proposition for you." Lupin didn't say anything, but looked at Draco with eyes that encouraged him to speak and warned him to be cautious at the same time. "For personal reasons, my private tutor will not be able to adhere to the schedule my parents have laid out to prepare for this coming school year. While they were prepared to work around this, I think it might be more sensible to … find another tutor."

Hermione's eyes widened as she looked between Draco and Lupin; her expression was excited though she refrained from smiling. Professor Lupin, on the other hand, studied Draco for a long while, revealing nothing of his thoughts. "I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore," he said at last.


	11. Part 11

It was a miracle that Professor Lupin passed his parents' grueling interview and screening process. Of course Draco had thought the Professor was well positioned to become his tutor, but he didn't know what his parents – specifically his father – did or didn't know about Remus Lupin. Aside from being a werewolf (something Narcissa didn't like but didn't faze Lucius in the slightest), Lupin had been friends with James Potter and Sirius Black at Hogwarts; of course, a lot of time had passed since then, and they used this angle to convince his parents that he no longer felt a loyalty to Dumbledore. Plus, he'd been relieved of his teaching position at Hogwarts – a job he clearly needed, and Lupin led the Malfoys to believe his resignation had been forced rather than freely given. His greatest asset though, was his skill; the man was ridiculously talented, and Narcissa Malfoy – despite her reservations – was not about to pass up that opportunity for her son. She was not, however, about to tolerate his appearances. On his first day, Lupin received custom-tailored robes, and a respectable haircut. He had also been instructed to "eat properly" as Narcissa didn't want people to think he wasn't paid enough to afford a decent meal.

Lupin proved to be an excellent tutor – perhaps even better than Draco's previous tutor. Draco had no idea how Lupin was serving in the forces against the Dark Lord, and was surprised if the man had any information to pass on considering he spent all their time together _actually_ teaching. Lupin's insistence to impart knowledge also interfered with Draco finding out anything that was happening on the other side of the fence; he received communications from his friends, but he was very sure they were screened by the adults to make sure they didn't share any unnecessary information – not even speculations or far-fetched theories.

"You know, some of these letters are meant to be private," Draco complained one day.

"You mean between you and Miss Granger? Please, I've heard old Professor Binns lecture in more affectionate words than you write to her," Lupin teased. Since he started tutoring Draco, his whole demeanour had changed: for one thing, Lupin actually looked his age – not worn and weary like when they'd first met. He became more spirited – he smiled more, laughed more; there was more colour in his face and light in his eyes. Draco also learned just how sharp he was, in both mind and speech – which wasn't always a good thing since the younger man often ended up the butt of his jokes.

"So Professor: Do you have a girlfriend then?" Draco smiled to himself as Lupin's smirk faltered. "Someone you exchange letters with, someone you think of over your coffee; someone you're fighting this war for?"

" _My kind_ don't really have normal relationships," Lupin said a bit stiffly, and Draco suddenly felt bad. He often forgot about Lupin's "condition", especially now that he was cleaned up and so, well, normal. "We're dangerous and unpredictable – and not in the good way. On top of that, there are the monthly transformations and the fact that there's no cure for Lycanthropy. Most people don't find these qualities to be… attractive in a partner."

Draco knew he should probably drop the topic, switch back to his lessons, but he was curious. "Do you want a family?"

To his surprise, Lupin smiled. "I have a family, Draco. Just not the conventional kind I suppose."

"You mean your friends," Draco presumed. "The Headmaster said something like that to me, how there's family you're born into and family you choose."

"Dumbledore is a wise man."

"But… Does it have to be one or the other? Why can't you have both?" Draco wondered out loud.

"Well Draco, unfortunately we can't always have what we want."

Draco had also heard this before, but he didn't want to think his father a wise man. Lupin continued, "And that often leads to reviewing one's priorities – and sometimes, making tough decisions."

"In your case, you don't want to fall in love and risk hurting that person – or starting a family when there's a chance that your Lycanthropy might be passed down?"

Lupin flipped through the text in his hands. "You know, I don't believe _Remus Lupin: One Man's Philosophy_ will be on the exam." He looked up at his student with a dry smile. "Shall we continue with the real lesson?"

* * *

"Oh it's so unfair!" Hermione complained, balling her hands into fists. "Professor Lupin must be an excellent tutor. I suppose he's taught you all sorts of things to prepare for your O.W.L.s. Has he told you about when he took the O.W.L.s – what they asked him or tested him for? I know they won't be the same, but if we had an idea of the level of difficulty or what to expect… Draco, are you even listening?"

In fact, Draco was not. He was mapping out an ongoing chess game he was playing with Ron via Owl correspondence. He cursed under his breath as he scratched something out in his playbook, then looked up at Hermione. "Lupin's adequate," he said in response to her commentary.

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say, Granger? He's a teacher."

Hermione rolled her eyes as if Draco didn't understand something very simple. "It's way better than trying to learn things yourself from just a book."

"When has a book ever been ' _just_ ' anything to you?" Draco teased. "And books have done you well so far, haven't they?" He glanced at their chaperone today: the eldest of the Weasley children, Bill, who had spent the entire time chatting with a pretty girl Draco recognized as Fleur Delacour. The way they laughed and flirted made Draco a bit uncomfortable – perhaps because they made it look so easy. "Are those two…"

"Who knows," Hermione answered quickly. "So how have you been otherwise?" She leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice. "This might be the only chance we have to talk candidly, you know." She nodded back at Bill, who was brushing back a stray strand of Fleur's long, silvery-blonde hair.

"I'm…" Draco hesitated for half a moment before he answered Hermione quite honestly. "Worried. There's no news of the Dark Lord, no buzz about what he's got planned, and yet my father is acting in full confidence. My mother is also on board – dad's somehow managed to ease her concerns about the Dark Lord's return; she's probably convinced it'll be good for our family." He clasped his hands together on the table. "It's not that I've been cut out, but they're certainly being cautious. If I just knew _something_ , I'd be able to come up with a plan or at least consider the options, but…"

"I know," Hermione said soothingly. She started to reach toward him, maybe to put her hand over his, but stopped abruptly, reaching for her cup instead. "I feel the same: Dumbledore is keeping a really tight lid on everything; he won't let us help and won't tell us anything – not even to address our concerns. ' _Just go about your lives like normal_ ', he says, but how can we?"

Draco stared at his hands: his parents were living pretty normally – entertaining frequently, hosting influential people, powerful wizards and witches, some who even worked for the Ministry. "I think they're recruiting," he said quietly. "The Death Eaters."

Hermione's eyes grew sad and troubled at the news, but it was no new realization; of course they would recruit. "We are too," she said in response. "The Order of the Phoenix."

The name wasn't new to Draco; he'd heard of the Order of the Phoenix before – a group of wizards who fought against the Dark Lord in the First Wizarding War. He managed to smile. "Where do we sign up?"

Hermione made a face. " _We're_ not allowed to. Of course Dumbledore won't let us get involved." Her hands were clasped together now too, resting on the table in front of her. With a surge of courage, Draco reached out and took her hand and held it tight.

"Order of the Phoenix or not," he said evenly. "I'll stand next to you in this fight."

"Dr-Draco," Hermione stammered, looking between Draco and their hands. "But – What about your parents?"

"I'd rather not stand against them," Draco answered truthfully. "But when you can't have _everything_ you want," he turned Hermione's hand, intertwining their fingers, "you review your priorities, and make difficult decisions. Lupin taught me that."

Hermione's face was flush now, and rather adorable. "I – I don't know what to say," she muttered.

"Say you like me," Draco suggested with a small, hopeful smirk.

"I – I do," she answered with her own small smile. "But – "

"Don't, Granger," Draco interrupted. "Don't ruin a perfectly good moment."

To his surprise, Hermione laughed. "Perfect? Meeting in secret – with a chaperone, talking about war and broken families. This is hardly perfect." Her eyes fell to their intertwined fingers, and with a sigh, she squeezed Draco's hand. "Ron's kicking your ass at chess," she remarked.

Now it was Draco who laughed. "We're facing war, and you're worried about a chess game?"

A scraping of chair legs announced the end of their meeting; Draco glanced up and saw Bill walking toward them, wearing a grin. "Sorry to interrupt this… touching moment, but there's a restaurant I want to introduce Fleur to, so, Hermione, I'm going to have to see you home a bit earlier than planned."

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation as she got to her feet, and with some reluctance, Draco let go of her hand. "I'll worry about chess while I still have the luxury," she said to Draco. Then, without notice, she swept in and kissed Draco – on the lips. It was soft and feathery, and left Draco's ears buzzing. "We'll stand together," she said to him. "No matter where that lands us, we'll stand together."


	12. Part 12

It wouldn't be summer without some major occurrence overshadowing the coming school year – headline on the front page stuff, typically involving Harry Potter. That summer, it was a trial where Harry was charged with the use of underage magic. Draco had first heard the story from his father, who used this as another illustration of how Draco was falling in with the wrong crowd. It didn't help with the Daily Prophet going to town with the story, making Harry out to be some sort of fizzled out celebrity who was desperate to get back into the limelight. There was a time when Draco would have bought into this, but he knew better now; Harry had never wanted the attention or the fame; he'd only ever wanted to be normal – though Draco wondered what "normal" meant with impending war looming overhead. Correspondence with his friends lessened as the summer drew on; he heard they were moved – to where or for what reason, Draco didn't know, but he presumed it was Dumbledore who relocated them for their protection, and Draco wasn't going to argue with that, even if it did leave him a bit lonely.

Well, he still had his tutor, though Lupin developed an intense nervousness, which translated into more thorough lessons Draco had ever received even at Hogwarts; the man appeared hell bent on making Draco top student of his year – an impossible feat considering he and Hermione were in the same year. But there was something more to his lessons; Draco just couldn't figure out what, and Lupin was clearly not about to explain.

"A Patronus?" Draco repeated with surprise. "Isn't that something to defend against Dementors?"

"That is its main purpose, yes," Lupin answered dryly. "It's pretty high-level magic, but you're up to the task, aren't you?" Lupin often wagered Draco's pride as motivation, and on principle, Draco always rose to meet the challenge. But learning the Patronus Charm was one of the hardest things Draco had ever attempted, and he was beginning to think he'd never get it. Every time he cast the spell, despite picturing a great moment and experiencing an unmistakable surge of power pass through him, a Patronus would not materialize. More concerning was the way Lupin studied him whenever he tried, as if he knew that it was not inability to blame, but something more inherent. Eventually, without success, Lupin moved on to something else.

It would be later, on the train ride to Hogwarts, that Draco learned Harry had been attacked by Dementors that summer – which was the real reason behind his use of magic despite being underage. Suddenly it made sense why Lupin had tried to teach Draco: it was for further protection – of his friends, and of himself. It had never occurred to Draco that anyone other than his parents would be looking out for his well-being; he made a mental note to convey his gratitude to his tutor when he next got the chance.

Draco also learned that Hermione and Ron had been made Prefects of Gryffindor House – which surprised him a little. Hermione was a given, but Ronald Weasley? He supposed the Headmaster had his reasons – like how he must have had his reasons for making Pansy Parkinson Prefect along with Draco for Slytherin.

"She hates me," Draco grumbled as he, Hermione, and Ron patrolled the corridors together. They had left Harry in the company of Ron's younger sister, Ginny, and a fourth-year Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood – the daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, the editor-in-chief of the Quibbler, a Wizarding publication that was a bit of a joke. But then again, the Prophet was a bit of a joke too these days. "I can't be stuck with her as Prefect all year. Do you think I can decline the position?"

"Don't you dare," Hermione chided. "Dumbledore has designated you for a reason – maybe to influence your peers."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Help them see the truth, Malfoy."

What troubled Draco was that many of his housemates already knew the truth – perhaps better than the other students in the other houses, and convincing them to see that truth in a different light would be more challenging than conjuring a Patronus.

* * *

The teaching line-up had changed once again that year: Hagrid had been replaced by Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had taught Care of Magical Creatures before him. Draco couldn't deny he was pleased with this change: Professor Grubbly-Plank had taken over a few of Hagrid's lessons the year prior and proved to be a much more adequate teacher than the – well, not lumbering oaf, but well, lumbering oaf. The other change was, of course, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a woman Draco recognized as someone from the Ministry: Dolores Umbridge. Draco was sure she had been introduced to him at one of his parents' functions as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic – a lofty position that answered to the Minister alone. Teaching at Hogwarts was surely a demotion, but Draco understood it gave the Ministry eyes and ears in Hogwarts, an institution that had always stood separate.

If Draco had thought Hagrid an awful teacher, he was nothing compared to Umbridge. Draco never believed that in his fifth year at Hogwarts, he'd be learning from a text that was basic enough for even Muggles to understand.

"Damn that Wilbert Slinkhard," Draco muttered under his breath, cursing the author of _Defensive Magical Theory_ as Umbridge droned on and on about how disjointed their Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons had been so far, mostly due to her predecessors being incompetent – a comment Draco took offense to, since Lupin – who was brilliant as their teacher in that subject – was now someone he greatly admired and knew to be more than competent. Apparently _the Ministry_ deemed Defense Against the Dark Arts a purely theoretical subject, as they insisted there was no need to actually put what they learned into practice.

"What you are learning, children, is to aid you through examinations. If you study hard enough, there is no reason you won't be able to perform the necessary spells under the carefully controlled examination conditions."

Most of the Slytherins couldn't care less about their new professor or her inane lessons; Pansy did her part as Prefect, paying enough attention to answer questions and earn house points. Because of this, Umbridge took a liking to Pansy. She also took a liking to Draco for no apparent reason, over-looking his obvious lack of interest and participation in class. Draco knew it had something to do with his family but didn't think much else of it.

* * *

"What's that on your hand, Potter?" Draco asked, pointing at the deep red scratches on the back of the other boy's hand. He could just make out letters that read, _'I must not tell lies'_.

"Detention with Umbridge," Harry answered curtly, rubbing his wounds. "By the end of all the detentions I have to serve, it'll just be another scar I won't be able to forget."

"That woman is evil," Ron commented. "And I'm pretty sure she's the worst teacher in the history of Hogwarts. _Ever_. We haven't learned a thing in her stupid classes, and now's the most important time to be learning Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"You're right," Hermione agreed without looking up from the essay she was working on. "We're going to have to do something about that."

"What do you mean? Get her sacked?"

"That will be difficult considering how she's been appointed by the Minister for Magic himself," Draco noted. He nudged Hermione so that she would actually look at them. Finally, she raised her head.

"I mean if Umbridge isn't going to teach us, then we'll just have to find someone else to."

This seemed a good idea, Draco thought. "Like Professor Lupin," he suggested. But Hermione shook her head.

"He's much too busy with… well, you know. Actually, I was thinking of you, Harry."

Harry looked stunned. He glanced from Hermione to Ron to Draco, looking to see if Hermione was making a joke, but both Ron and Draco were considering this seriously.

"That's an idea," Ron murmured, furrowing his brow in thought. Even Draco had to admit he seemed a good choice.

"But I'm not a teacher," Harry said, still looking like his friends might break out laughing any second.

"You've got the experience," Hermione continued. "You can't deny the things you're capable of – you can even cast a fully corporeal Patronus!"

"Really?" Draco exclaimed, thoroughly impressed. "Lupin tried to teach me that – even I couldn't manage it."

But the more they discussed it, the more upset Harry seemed to get. He said that everything he'd been through was luck or fluke or the timing of events that were completely out of his control. Somehow, they convinced him to at least consider it.

Eventually, Harry agreed, and they secretly and painstakingly gathered a group of students who were interested in these extra-curricular classes. Draco noticed that none in this group were fellow Slytherins – which was just as well, since he wasn't sure he would trust a Slytherin among them. The first task at hand was to find a room to hold the classes in, which seemed an impossible task. To make things worse, Umbridge was appointed High Inquisitor – a rubbish position the Ministry invented to give her more clout in the school. Aside from sitting in on other classes to "evaluate" the quality of education at Hogwarts – making every class near unbearable as you couldn't get through a lesson without her interrupting to make a "correction", comment, or ask a question that was wholly unrelated to the subject being taught – she created a decree stating that all groups or clubs (defined as a regular meeting of three or more students) had to be approved by the High Inquisitor. But this didn't stop the group of students, determined to learn proper Defense Against the Dark Arts; this just meant they had to be more careful.

Then one day, Dobby helped them find the perfect spot to hold their classes. He called it the 'Room of Requirement', and while they were somewhat skeptical of it at first description (Dobby had a tendency to exaggerate whenever Harry was involved) the room proved true to the little House Elf's word. The room provided them with everything they needed from textbooks you could _actually_ learn from to instruments like Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and even a large, cracked Foe-Glass. There were also silk floor cushions – where Hermione headed at once having plucked _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ from the bookshelf. They had managed to inform all the other members of their meeting location throughout the day, and slowly, they all started trickling in. When everyone had finally arrived, Hermione addressed a few issues: the first of which was who their leader would be – the answer was Harry, of course, but she wanted a formal vote on it. Second was a name. The Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang, suggested 'The Defense Association' or 'DA' for short.

"Yeah, the DA's good," said Ginny. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbedore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?" There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this. Hermione held one last vote, which too was passed.

"Shall we discuss a curriculum, then?" Hermione asked, looking to Harry.

"Right, I think the first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus_ , you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's a bit basic but I've found it really useful –"

"Oh, _please_ ," said Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff who had quickly become a thorn in everyone's side since he attended their first gathering. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

"I've used it against him," said Harry quietly. The rest of the room became very quiet.

"If you think it's beneath you, feel free to leave," Draco suggested. He, Ron, and Hermione gazed across the room at all the other members; no one moved – not even the haughty Hufflepuff.

"Okay," Harry continued. "I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice."

To Draco's disappointment, Hermione paired up with Ginny, leaving Draco with Ron. The Slytherin had to admit he had his fair bit of fun with the Gryffindor though; Draco had already mastered the spell while Ron struggled to properly execute it. Every time he tried, Draco felt little more than a gentle tug; nothing a firm grip couldn't handle.

"Put a little more effort into it, Weasley. Be confident."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron snapped, focusing on his wand movement. "I'm trying to think – and you're worse than Hermione at instructing."

Somewhere off to the side, Hermione shouted " _Expelliarmus_ " and Ron's wand flew out of his hand into hers.

"Hey!" Ron protested, casting her a scathing look while Ginny and the two other Weasley siblings laughed loudly. He stalked over and snatched his wand back from Hermione.

"Maybe if you paid closer attention to our instructions, you'd actually _get_ the spell."

By the end of the lesson, Ron had gotten better, but Draco guessed, against a real Death Eater, he would be unlikely to succeed. The group agreed to meet at the same time the following week, and started leaving a few at a time. When it was just the four of them left, Draco grabbed Harry's arm.

"What's up, Malfoy?" Harry asked, regarding him curiously. He looked a bit worried, like Draco might criticize him or something, but that wasn't his intention.

"It's about… the curriculum I guess." Hermione and Ron also turned to face him. "I think it might be important to learn the Unforgivable Curses."


	13. Part 13

Before anyone could protest, Draco continued. "I think there's some merit in learning to resist them at least. The ones that won't kill us, I mean," he added for clarification.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"I don't know," Ron murmured, looking worried.

"Absolutely not," Hermione replied outright. "They're _UN_ -forgivable for a reason Draco."

"Yes, and believe me, that isn't going to hold the enemy back from using them on us – which is all the more reason to learn to fight against them at the very least."

The four exchanged looks again and when neither Harry nor Ron spoke against Draco, Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and stormed out of the room without another word.

"She's not wrong," Harry started to say. "But you're not either, Malfoy." He met Draco's eyes with an understanding rooted in his personal experiences. "Let's get more of the basics down first, and then maybe we'll discuss the Unforgivable Curses – maybe have a vote with everyone."

Ron nodded his head slowly. "You keep saying 'at least'," he pointed out, speaking quietly. "You really think we'll need to learn these Curses, don't you – learn to cast them against our enemies."

"Let's not think about that right now," Harry said with an expression much more grave than his suggestion. "There are plenty of other spells that can help us before we need to resort to the Unforgivable ones." He looked between the two boys standing on either side of him: both Draco and Ron nodded in agreement.

* * *

Between regular classes, DA lessons, preparations for OWLs (plans detailed by Lupin that Draco was happy to share with Hermione), and homework, Draco was surprised to find he still had the energy to look forward to Quidditch. Their first game was against Gryffindor and he was quite looking forward to a rematch against Harry now that they were actually friends. Plus, Ron had been made Gryffindor's Keeper, though, well, he wasn't particularly good. But this gave Draco an idea…

"You want us to throw the game?" Harry asked incredulously. "No way!"

"Just think about it, Potter: If I can unite Slytherin with a win against Gryffindor in the first game of the season, they might be inclined to hear me out – on other more, _pressing_ matters." He looked to Ron who hadn't said anything. "It'll be Weasley's first game anyway, so no one will think twice about a rookie Keeper making a few mistakes. You can pretend to be nervous, can't you?"

"Yeah… Pretend," Ron gulped.

"It doesn't mean anything if you don't win it on your own effort, Malfoy," Harry insisted.

"But no one needs to know! That's the whole point!" Draco paced back and forth; he wondered if it was this frustrating to explain things to them all the time. "It's only the first game – Gryffindor will have a chance to play for the Cup as long as we keep the point difference small – which we will. But do you see the importance of Slytherin winning?" He stopped to stare at the other two: Ron dropped his gaze sheepishly, but Harry stared back. His green eyes were steadfast. "Fine," Draco snapped. " _Be_ short-sighted about this! We'll win on our own – and when we clobber you properly, you'll wish we had made a deal."

Draco would have felt bad for Gryffindor if he weren't so upset with them; he knew Ron wasn't the best Keeper, but he had no idea how bad he actually was. Whether it was nerves or pure lack of skill, Weasley let in goal after goal after goal. It seemed Draco would be right when he'd said Slytherin would beat Gryffindor. But then, in the aerial battle for the Snitch, it was the other team that won out – saving the game. When they were descending onto the pitch, Crabbe sent a Bludger crashing into Harry's back, even though the game had ended.

"What'd you do that for?" Draco shouted, staring at his housemate with disgust. He turned his broom and rounded on him, continuing to chide him mid-air. "Think you're clever attacking their Seeker after he's saved them from a tremendous loss? Well now we just look like sore losers – and is that anyway to represent the Great House of Slytherin?" He glared around him at a few of his other teammates who were nearby, including their Captain, Graham Montague. "What's the point of your blood being pure if you can't act with a little class and superiority?"

When Draco landed on the pitch, he ran over to see if Harry was alright. To his surprise, the Gryffindor glared at Draco like the enemy.

"What, you think I was retaliating?" he asked angrily. "It wasn't me! What would be the point now anyway?"

"Don't be a sore loser, Malfoy," one of the Weasley twins teased, coming up behind Harry.

Draco couldn't help but cast him a disdainful look. "Don't look so smug; it was your younger brother who would have cost Gryffindor the game had Potter not swooped in to save the day."

"Ron did alright," Harry replied defensively. "And it's over now, so it's time you moved on, Malfoy."

Despite the proximity of the rest of the Gryffindor team, Draco stepped in toward Harry and grabbed the front of his robes. "You're supposed to be our leader," he growled. "Yet you can't even look past a simple game to see –"

"Come off it, Malfoy!" the Weasley twin shouted, pushing Draco back.

The other Gryffindors were gathering now, as were the Slytherins. Draco knew he had to relent if he didn't want to further antagonize Harry to his housemates. He threw up his hands and stopped fighting against the Weasley twin. Glaring at Harry one last time, Draco said, "Gryffindor won the game – congratulations. But had Slytherin won, that might have been a _game changer_."

* * *

Things got worse for Draco that evening in the Slytherin commons. Many of his housemates believed he _let_ Harry catch the Snitch, that he wanted his friends in Gryffindor to win. Their (the Slytherins) only consolation was knowing that Harry and the Weasley twins had been banned from playing Quidditch by Umbridge – for life; for Harry and George, it was because of their quarrel with Draco; Fred on the other hand, had gotten into it with Crabbe after he'd knocked Harry with the Bludger. Draco was still too upset to feel any sympathy for his friends though, even if he knew it must have crushed them to be banned from their favourite sport for life.

"You're going about it wrong." Draco looked up from his homework at Theodore Nott, who took the seat next to him. "We're Slytherins," he said, laying out his own homework on the table. "And we don't have normal relations with the other Houses – _precisely_ because of the Dark Lord. Considering who our fathers are, you can't deny it either." He leisurely unfurled one of his scrolls of parchments and glanced over its contents. "You'll never win over the others, and your pursuit for unity is isolating you from your own House."

"So it's hopeless, then?"

Theodore met Draco's gaze: there was nothing in his eyes, no comfort and no contempt. He pressed flat his parchment and started scribbling on it. "I personally have no interest in this war. I only want to make a life for myself in whatever world is born of it, and the key to that, Draco, is _neutrality_. If you don't openly support either side, then whichever way the war tips, you're positioned to claim that you never opposed their cause. You may not be in their good graces, but you can at least rest assured in their mercy."

"Assuming the Dark Lord is capable of mercy," Draco remarked. To his surprise, Theodore chortled.

"That's not particularly positive of you considering your current stance," he replied. "But you're right: mercy isn't one of the Dark Lord's winning characteristics. Well I suppose if it comes to that, you can always blame it on youth – young people make these sort of mistakes all the time, don't they? For fear of one thing or another – or for love."

"That's… rather conniving, isn't it?" Draco commented with a smirk.

"God, Draco," Theodore laughed. "We're Slytherins. And it's time you realize that."


	14. Part 14

Admittedly, Draco had never really had friends before – _real_ friends. He had also never been concerned about this either. Friendship meant different things to different people. Theodore's comment had reminded him of this. In establishing a meaningful friendship with Hermione, Harry, and Ron (which led to warm relations with other Gryffindors, and even a handful of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws), Draco had lost ground with his fellow Slytherins. In the face of impending war, Draco understood this was not ideal; even if he could not convince his House to fight with him, he at least didn't want to fight against them. After careful consideration, Draco decided to spend more time in the Slytherin common room, reclaiming the space physically and socially. He offered to help his classmates with their work – he was the smartest Slytherin in their year, after all – and with the avalanche of homework the fifth-years received heading into December, many took him up on this offer. Gradually, the tension between him and his contemporaries lessened. But it was still far from ideal.

The Holiday Season also brought about an increase in Prefect duties, including over-seeing decorations being set-up around the castle, watching over the first and second-year students who spent their break-times inside because of the bitter cold, and patrolling the corridors with the school caretaker, Argus Filch, who suspected that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of wizarding duels. Worst of all, Draco had to complete these tasks with Pansy. Thankfully, most of the time, she ignored Draco.

The D.A. held a meeting just before the Christmas break; Harry thought it wise to review everything they'd learned up to that point before their two-weeks off for the holidays.

"You're getting really good," Harry said at the end of the session, addressing the entire group. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the room. Since first bringing it up, Draco hadn't mentioned the Unforgivable Curses again, but he also hadn't forgotten. As the room began to clear, Draco lingered, hoping to ensure Harry hadn't forgotten their discussion either, but Hermione grabbed him and dragged him out of the room.

"I wanted to talk to Potter," Draco snapped when they'd walked a safe distance from the Room of Requirement. He thought Hermione had pulled him away to stop him from bringing up the topic again, but then he noticed her somewhat mischievous expression.

"You weren't the only one," she giggled.

Draco looked around; Ron and Neville Longbottom were walking further up ahead of them, the four of them having left the room together. He couldn't recall who was left after they'd gone. "Who?" he asked.

"God you boys are oblivious," Hermione said with a sigh. "Cho, of course."

"Chang? From Ravenclaw? What's she want with Potter?" Draco asked. His response clearly disappointed Hermione, and she gave him another moment to ponder what she'd meant. Well, at least he knew it wasn't about Quidditch… "Ohhhh," he exclaimed, when he finally realized it. "Chang and Potter, eh?" he murmured, smiling to himself.

"So, what did _you_ want to talk to him about?"

"You know what, Granger," Draco replied with a smirk.

"I'm still against it," she stated firmly, crossing her arms.

"I know," Draco sighed. He didn't want to fight with Hermione especially when they wouldn't see each other for two-weeks. She was going skiing with her parents; he was going home. His mind wandered back to Harry and Cho, alone, together in the Room of Requirement, talking… or not talking at all. "Hermione," he said, stepping in toward her.

"What, Malfoy?" she asked with bite to her words. She seemed prepared to defend her stand on the issue, ready to argue against him in a heated debate. As she looked up at him with those beautiful brown-eyes – so passionate, so full of integrity – he couldn't help but recall that time in the library when she had been so angry with him, or that time she'd punched him. Or the time they had danced…

"Hermione," he repeated, reaching his arms around her. "I'm going to kiss you."

Before she could speak, Draco pulled her into him. It wasn't like their first kiss, the one they'd shared over the summer; that one had been light and sweet, like a dream. This time, Draco kissed her with both feet rooted in reality. He was fully aware of her – of how tangible she was in his arms, how warm she felt against him, how soft her lips were, and how her hair tickled his cheek. After, when he looked down at her, he was surprised to find that her face was not flush; she did not look embarrassed or like she might say something that would ruin the moment. She just smiled.

It made him want to kiss her again, so he did.

* * *

The next morning, Draco finished packing up his trunk before heading down to breakfast with his roommates. It was always fun to see all the students out of uniform before heading out for the holidays; in previous years, Draco liked to mentally judge what others wore and how they carried themselves in plain clothes, but this year, he was caught up in the fact that it was near impossible to tell who belonged to which House when no one was wearing House colours and robes – an observation further impacted when they entered the Great Hall: the House tables were still there, separated, but students sat wherever they wanted, with whomever they wanted.

"Bah, I hate when we don't have to wear uniforms," Blaise complained, glaring over the crowd.

"Why's that?" Theodore asked without the slightest hint of actual curiosity in his voice.

"How am I supposed to know which girls I can flirt with if I don't know which House they belong to?"

"Does it matter?" Draco questioned, laughing at his friend.

Blaise was notorious for only dating "pretty" girls, but as a Slytherin, he had blood-standards, or so he claimed. Draco watched as Blaise's eyes fell to a girl with curly brown hair, pinned back in an elegant manner. "You're a Prefect, Draco: What about that one," he asked, nodding at the pretty brunette. "Know what she is?"

In fact, Draco did happen to know. "She's a sixth-year Hufflepuff," Draco answered.

"Yeah, but is she pure-blood? What's her name?"

"Why don't you talk to her and find out for yourself?"

Blaise didn't like this suggestion. He crossed his arms and knocked Draco with one of his elbows. "Just because you have a girlfriend," he grumbled.

With a smirk, Draco replied, "Damn right I –" but he faltered when he noticed a commotion at the Gryffindor table.

"Answer her question, Granger," Marietta Edgecombe demanded, slamming her hand on the table in front of Hermione. Next to her was Cho Chang, who looked like she'd been crying. "Where – is – Harry – Potter?"

"Need I remind you, Marietta, that I am a Prefect, and that we are not yet on holidays?"

But Marietta scoffed. "You're not the type to give a detention over something so trivial –"

"Perhaps not, but I am." Draco had pushed his way through the gathering crowd and stood protectively behind Hermione. He met Marietta's glare. "And if it's such a 'trivial' thing, Edgecombe, why don't you drop it?"

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but Cho put a hand on her arm and stopped her. "It's okay," Cho said quietly. She stepped forward in front of Marietta and looked at Hermione.

"Please, Hermione," she said. "Please tell me where Harry is. I just want to –"

"I don't know where he is," Hermione answered curtly. "I already told you that," she added, speaking more kindly.

"B-But you must! You're one of his – best friends."

These words seemed difficult for Cho to say, but to her credit, her concern did not give way to her jealousy. Hermione got to her feet and took Cho's hand. "Look, wherever Harry is, I'm sure he's fine. I know you're upset, but there isn't anything I can tell you."

"Do you really think I can just let this go after what happened to Cedric!?" Cho shouted suddenly. In her emotional outburst, she drew her wand, and though she didn't direct it at anyone, Draco pushed Hermione behind him. He retrieved his own wand as the crowd shuffled back, giving them more space.

"You're upset, Chang," Draco said, articulating each word carefully. "Put down your wand."

But seeing Draco defend Hermione only aggravated Cho. She pointed her wand at Draco.

"I don't think so," a silky voice said as Pansy Parkinson stepped through the crowd, wand raised. She circled the Ravenclaw menacingly, the tip of her wand inches from Cho's head. "You dare raise your wand against a Slytherin?" she hissed, leaning in. She glanced a moment at Draco, who did his best to hide his shock.

"What is going on?" a voice screamed, breaking through the crowd. It was Padma Patil, the fifth-year Ravenclaw Prefect. "Cho!" she exclaimed, stepping forward boldly. Her eyes quickly scanned the situation. "She's in my House; I'll handle this, Parkinson, Malfoy," Padma said calmly. She turned to face Cho, staring down the straight of her wand. "Ten points from Ravenclaw," she declared. Cho dropped her wand as tears fell down her cheeks. Marietta ran forward and put her arms around her friend.

The crowd dispersed as Padma led Cho and Marietta away. Pansy had disappeared as well. With a heavy sigh, Hermione plopped back into her seat.

"So, where is Potter?" Draco asked, sitting next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table. "And the Weasleys?" he added, realizing the red-haired family was no where to be seen.

"I don't know," Hermione exhaled. "Dean and Seamus said Harry got violently sick last night; Neville got Professor McGonagall, and that was the last they saw of them. But he's not in the infirmary, and Professor McGonagall won't answer my questions." She leaned into Draco and put her head on his shoulder. "Draco, I'm scared," she whispered.

* * *

It was a long train ride back to King's Cross Station. For reasons the Head Boy and Girl did not disclose to the Prefects, Hermione (and the absent Ron) had been excused from Prefect duties, which meant more patrol time for the others. Draco had not seen Pansy since she stood up for him in the Great Hall earlier that day, and he was a bit uncertain of how to treat her as they walked through the Hogwarts Express together.

"What exactly happened this morning?" he asked, trying not to sound too abrasive. As expected, Pansy didn't answer at first, so he provoked her. "Still in love with me?" he quipped, knowing Pansy felt nothing more than disdain for him.

"For someone who's working so hard for solidarity, you certainly don't recognize it," Pansy replied, casting him an exasperated glance. "Our end goals may be different Draco, but to get there, we require the same thing: for Slytherins to stand together, for the rest of the school to know that we are strong – and that they need us."

Draco couldn't argue with this but he also knew he was standing before something very dangerous. For now, he would let things be; he would use Pansy like she was using him – until she was no longer useful.


	15. Part 15

"More tea, Draco?"

"Sure. Thanks, Ginny."

She tipped the absurdly large teapot forward, refilling Draco's cup. "I quite agree with you," she said as she poured. "Being familiar with the Unforgivable Curses will give us an advantage when we're up against people who will undoubtedly use them. Harry, more tea?"

"Keep your voice down, Ginny!" Ron chided, glancing about the near-empty restaurant nervously. "These are three _criminal_ curses we're discussing."

"It's not criminal to _talk_ about them, Ronald," Ginny returned, rolling her eyes.

Draco looked around the table: Hermione was as obstinate as ever, Harry ever-pensive; Ron, anxious though he was, was still on the fence. Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley were new to the topic, but had listened, without interruption, to both Draco and Hermione as they presented their conflicting views on the issue.

It was a few days after Christmas; the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione had been visiting Mr Weasley at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries after an incident – whereby most of the details of the story were left out, as some things were better left unsaid in public – had put his life in mortal danger. Draco had received a letter from Hermione almost immediately after returning home for the holidays, asking him to lunch in Diagon Alley; he was surprised, of course, as she was supposed to be skiing with her parents, but understood that behind her disjointed, somewhat cryptic words, something deeper was going on. And so they met – along with all the others, and their trusty chaperones – for lunch.

"And I'm not saying we have to use them ourselves or anything," Ginny continued, "but –"

"Well, I'm with Hermione on this one," Fred interrupted, helping himself to more quiche. "I think a defensive approach is better – more sensible."

His siblings looked at him curiously. "Yeah," Ginny drawled. "Because you're all about defense and sensibility."

"This isn't some Deluxe Bat-Bogey Hex we're talking about, Ginny," Fred remarked, sounding rather, well, sensible. "These spells aren't cast light-heartedly – and there's no taking back an Unforgivable Curse."

"I understand we'd be crossing a line that there's no going back on," Draco reiterated, looking at everyone around him. "But we're talking about war. We're talking about people who should be in Azkaban for the things they've done in the name of Darkness."

"Will we really be any better if we do the same?" Hermione countered. They exchanged defiant stares. "Any time we spend familiarizing ourselves with the Unforgivable Curses is, in my honest opinion, a waste. We should be using that time instead to practice defensive spells to protect ourselves."

"How will we even know what spells will protect us though?" Ginny asked. "You don't exactly want to learn all these spells without knowing _for sure_ they're actually going to stop something like a Death Curse."

Ron turned to Hermione. "Do you know if a _Protego_ will stop a – a Death Curse?"

"I-I don't know," Hermione faltered. "But we can research those things, read which spells are effective in countering the really bad curses."

"But how?"

"Ronny's got a point: We can't exactly ask the Professors – not that they'd tell us anything anyway," George noted.

"And then there's Umbridge: if the old toad gets even the slightest notion that we're looking up practical defensive spells, she'll lock us up alongside our brooms," Harry added.

"Or worse," Ginny murmured, flattening a potato against her plate with her fork. "We could be expelled."

"Well, I still think it's worth it," Hermione maintained, glaring at Ginny. "Maybe we can ask the Room of Requirement; it might provide us with the materials we need."

"I got an excellent set of books from uhh, my Godfather and… his friend, for Christmas," Harry shared. "The set's titled _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_ , so you know, there might be something in there."

But Draco shook his head. "Not about _these_ spells, Potter. They don't exactly publish literature about _these_ spells and put them up for sale for Christmas presents."

"Well, they bloody well should," Fred murmured, stuffing half a scone into his mouth.

With the conversation going no where, the topic switched to what everyone received for Christmas gifts. Draco was glad to have gotten a sense of what others thought though, and was quite pleased that at least one other person saw the validity of his point. At the end of lunch, as everyone was getting up to leave, one of the chaperones – Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody – paused as he passed by Draco. Nervous that he'd be reprimanded, Draco was surprised when the old man clapped him on the back and gave him an approving nod, on his way out.

* * *

Bringing up the topic with the rest of the D.A. was nothing like Draco could have imagined: After a shocked silence, the conversation started up with the Ravenclaws – all of who thought it was a good idea.

"The more you know, the better equipped you are to react in any given situation," Padma said with an approving nod.

"And it's not like we _have_ to use them," Anthony Goldstein, the other Ravenclaw fifth-year prefect clarified, addressing first and foremost, his housemates, "but better to know them and not have to use them, than to have to use them, and not know them."

"That's stupid," Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff, remarked. "There are plenty of other good spells to learn – spells that won't land us in Azkaban for casting them."

"The Unforgivable Curses were legalized for the First Wizarding War," Cho noted. "Who's to say they won't be again?"

"For now, they're _still_ illegal," Susan Bones retorted. Her Aunt, Amelia Bones, was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, something the Hufflepuff was very proud of.

Justin Finch-Fletchley crossed his arms and nodded. "Covering spells we're not even supposed to use would be pretty useless information, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, but there is no such thing as useless information, Justin," Luna Lovegood replied dreamily. Draco noticed that Hermione rolled her eyes at this, and despite Luna wearing 3D glasses and clementine earrings (they were _literally_ clementine fruits), Draco thought she'd never been more credible.

"I still believe a strong defensive strategy is the better approach," Fred maintained.

"Right," Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain said, rolling her eyes. "Said the bloke who plays Beater for the House team."

"That's a defensive position," George noted.

"Remember that the next time you smash a Bludger in the direction of the other team," Alicia added with a smirk.

"But that's a _game_ ," Hermione argued with an exasperated sigh.

Lee Jordan furrowed his brow. "That's right, Granger – a game. _This_ , however, is not. There's no fooling around when it comes to war. The other 'team', so to speak, isn't trying to knock us off a broom or steal a ball; they're going to try and kill us."

"But that doesn't mean we should be killing them," Neville offered, speaking so quietly, he was nearly drowned out by all the din.

"Let's not talk about killing," Lavender Brown whimpered, making a face as she squeezed the hand of her best friend, Parvati Patil. "We're here to practice for exams, aren't we? To learn the things Professor Umbridge won't teach us in class?"

"Yes; let's stick to Ministry approved Magic," Susan Bones agreed.

"Oh, yeah," Ginny laughed derisively. "Because the _Ministry's_ been real helpful, what with putting us in this situation in the first place by appointing Godawful Dumbridge our Dark Arts Professor.

"Well, hey now," Dean Thomas interjected. "Maybe the answer is how the Ministry counteracts the Dark Arts; they obviously have sanctioned methods that are tried and proven effective."

The room quieted down as everyone considered this. But then, Luna said, "So, there are Ministry approved ways to kill a person – other than the Killing Curse."

"Aurors don't kill," Neville said steadily.

"But I'll bet they know how to."

"Okay!" Harry shouted, getting everyone's attention. "There's no point in arguing with each other. I said this would be a democratic process so… let's vote." He drew a line on the ground with his wand. "Everyone who's in favour stands on this side; everyone who's against, on the other."

Slowly, people started to move, choosing their sides. Some avoided eye contact while others stared curiously at their friends and housemates who had chosen differently than them. When the room settled, the sides were nearly evenly divided – nearly. A final count showed fourteen 'for' and only thirteen 'against'; Harry and Ron stood at the front of the room, undecided. Draco knew he only needed one more to win the majority, while the opposition needed both Harry and Ron to side with them.

"Come on, boys," George said, gesturing to Harry and Ron. "We've got room for you here." Neither moved.

"Hang on now," Ginny protested, putting her hands on her hips. "Ron," she said simply, giving him a look. He met his sister's eyes momentarily and his expression seemed to harden, but still, he didn't move.

"Oh, this is stupid," Hermione grumbled, stepping into the middle of the room. "Well then, let's get on with it." She drew her wand and stood tall before everyone. "Malfoy: Shall we?"

"What?" Draco said, expressing the confusion that everyone in the room felt.

"I'm not an idiot; I know I'm outnumbered, so let's get this lesson going." Others started to shuffle to one side, leaving Draco and Hermione in the open.

"Are you going to curse me?" Draco asked with a smirk of disbelief.

"Certainly not. I still think this is unnecessary," Hermione replied. " _You're_ going to curse _me_."

The room filled with a tense, uncomfortable silence; nobody moved, nobody spoke, nobody even breathed. Draco looked to Harry and Ron; they stared back at him, dumbfounded. "This was your idea," Hermione reminded Draco.

It was like walking through water as Draco moved to face Hermione. The wand in his hand had never felt so heavy as it did when he pointed it at her. But he had to do it – because of impending war, for the sake of survival; for the very girl who stood before him, he had to make the first move. With his wand steady and the slightest turn of his wrist, he said, " _Imperio_ ".

Hermione's arms fell to her side, the fingers holding her wand relaxed; her expression became neutral save for the smallest of carefree smiles. It would have been impossible to tell if she was actually under the curse except that within Draco's mind, was Hermione's as well – or was he in her mind? He could _feel_ her in some intangible sense, floating about him…

' _What would you have me do?_ ' a voice asked. It was Hermione's, but she hadn't spoken. He had the sense he needed to subdue this abstract Hermione, that in order to enact the spell properly, his will and authority over his subject could not waver.

"Turn around in a circle," he commanded. The physical Hermione did as she was told, but he could tell her mind was displeased to do so. The other students gasped; someone (Draco highly suspected Zacharias Smith, but was too busy concentrating to turn and look) whispered, "How do we know it's not an act? They're together, aren't they?", but was immediately hushed. Feeling that he had provided an adequate demonstration, Draco ended the curse, which left him feeling light-headed. Hermione's eyes refocused and she furrowed her brow.

"What happened?" she asked, looking around.

"It worked," Parvati exhaled, looking both impressed and terrified.

"Of course it worked," Ginny reproached.

"You don't remember anything?" Harry asked.

The creases on Hermione's forehead deepened as she tried to recall the occurrence; "I reminded Draco this was his idea, and then…" She shook her head. Her eyes drifted up to Draco, and he was hurt that they looked disappointed. Didn't she understand he was doing this for her? Plus, she was the one who had put him on the spot.

"I think we should stop for today," Harry suggested, also looking at Draco.

"Wait," Hermione said, grabbing Harry by the arm. "What about the other curse?" she asked. "The Cruciatus Curse."

"You're not serious, are you?" Seamus Finnigan exclaimed. "That's the Torture Curse!"

"I know _what_ it is, thank you," Hermione replied shortly. "Come on now, we don't have all day." She pushed Harry aside and squared herself again, but Draco wasn't sure he could do it. The gravity of the spell hit him all at once: Could he really cause Hermione excruciating pain to prove a point? What if he didn't have it in him to torture someone – and what if he _did_?

He raised his wand once more and pointed at Hermione. He looked into her steely eyes and knew she wouldn't see the same determination as she looked back into his.

" _Crucio_."


	16. Part 16

It was the worst pain Hermione had ever known. But more haunting than what she felt during the curse was what came after: fear. Since starting at Hogwarts, Hermione had come face to face with fear in a kaleidoscope of forms, from fear of disappointment and disapproval, to fear of failure; the fear of letting someone down, and the fear of losing someone important; this had been different though. In a single moment, the reality of what they were trying to do, of what they were up against had gripped Hermione and threatened to tear her apart. They were students! Most of whom hadn't even taken their O.W.L.s! Her resolution was set, but that didn't stop her from experiencing despair.

And, on the other side of that fear, was Draco. At first, when he'd put her under the Imperius Curse, she had been disappointed; there was a moment where she thought he wouldn't do it, that he'd concede and she'd have her way. When he cast the Cruciatus Curse though, she understood what he was actually capable of. Hermione was smart, she was clever; she read books, absorbed and retained the information, and when it came time to put theory into practice, she was generally very good. But Draco had talent – natural ability, on top of being smart and clever and a good student. The Dark Arts were no less a challenge for him than Transfiguring a pin-cushion into a rabbit.

"You must not cast those curses again. Ever."

Hermione walked before Draco and the others; they'd decided to take a slushy walk around the school grounds to have some privacy as they discussed what had transpired during their last D.A. session.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," Draco said once more, his words as sincere as the first time he'd apologized – and the second, and the third, and the fourth…

"That's not it," Hermione shouted, coming to a stop. She turned on them and for a moment, could only stare. Harry, Ron, and Draco paused and waited in silence. "Don't you see how dangerous it is?"

"Blimey, Hermione, of course we get how dangerous those curses are. They're criminal for a reason, aren't they?" Ron replied.

"No, Ron, that's not what I mean!" She stamped her feet as she walked back toward them. She stared up at Draco. "It's dangerous for you to use the curses," she said with quiet urgency. She turned and met Harry's green-eyes. "You too, Harry," she added.

"What about me?" Ron asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

"We know the spells are dangerous," Harry agreed. "They're complicated to cast and require a lot of mental strength and concentration. But –"

"No buts," Hermione said very quickly, the slightest quiver of fear escaping her. "Promise me, you two. Promise me you won't ever use the Unforgivable Curses."

"We can't promise something like that," Draco answered very honestly. Somewhere in his cold gray-eyes, Hermione knew he was starting to grasp what she really meant, but she also saw that he was as serious as she was. "There will be times when they will be necessary, and we will do what is necessary." Hermione turned to Harry, who hadn't said anything, but was obviously in agreeance.

"Should I come back," Ron interrupted, "when the conversation extends to us mediocre people?"

"This isn't about power and ability," Hermione argued.

"Well, it sure sounds like it," Ron snapped in return.

"That's not it," Harry chimed in. "It's more like…"

"It's that Potter and I are more susceptible to the lure of Dark Magic," Draco said conclusively. Hermione turned and opened her mouth to disagree, but that was exactly what she thought – what she feared; it just sounded so awful the way he'd said it. "You're not wrong, Granger," Draco added, with a laugh. Even Harry wasn't surprised. At least Ron no longer seemed upset – in fact, now that he understood, he appeared as concerned as Hermione. As they walked back to the school, Hermione lingered back, feeling defeated.

"It's okay, Hermione," Ron said, slowing down to walk with her. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "We'll keep them on the straight." He stared forward at the backs of Harry and Draco. "They're not the only ones who will do what's necessary. And when they do what they've got to do, you and I will make sure they return to us at all costs."

* * *

It was decided, by the Four, that the Unforgivable Curses would be taught to the D.A. but only in theory. With some convincing, Madam Pince allowed Hermione access to the Restricted Section of the library without permission from a Professor. Draco had given her the idea that she need only balance her disdain for Umbridge's inadequate teachings with her love for learning and books when she approached the Librarian – a task made easier when Hermione found out that Professor Umbridge had "banned" any book with practical information in it to the Restricted Section. From there, Hermione gathered as much information as she could about the Unforgivable Curses, to relay the details of how they are cast, the requirements from the caster, and the extent of the curse itself. Coupled with Draco's practical experience (from just the one time or previous, he didn't disclose, and no one pried), as well as their experience with Professor Moody from the year before, they constructed a comprehensive lesson plan.

"It'll have to be good enough," Hermione said with a sigh as she walked with Harry and Ron down to the dungeons for Potions.

"It's good, Hermione," Harry assured her with a smile. "Any information is better than none – and we're giving them as much information as we can, considering."

"Bet Zacharias Smith will still find something to complain about," Ron grumbled with a smirk as the other two laughed.

They entered the dungeons and took their seats. Hermione smiled at Draco from across the room, who was sharing a counter with Blaise Zabini. She waved at Blaise too, but he only stared in return. When Professor Snape entered, the entire classroom quieted. He walked straight to the front of the room and began teaching, directing them to a page in their text, and writing notes on the board. When he finally did turn to face his students, Hermione did her best to clear her mind. Since Harry had begun his private Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape, she wondered if he hadn't been accessing their minds all along. Hermione doubted she'd be able to block out an expert Legilimens, but she still tried her best.

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, his cold voice cutting through as Hermione was tidying up her thoughts. She gasped, unsure if he'd called on her out loud or merely inside her head. One look proved he'd spoken out loud. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"What!?" several voices exclaimed. "What for?"

"I asked a question," Professor Snape explained, walking menacingly between the rows of Gryffindors. "And no one provided me with the correct answer."

"And for that, we're being punished?" Dean Thomas dared to ask.

"Another ten points, Mr Thomas," the Professor said with a cruel smile. "Is Miss Granger not always the first to raise her hand and provide an answer – asked for or not?"

"But she didn't this time," Theodore Nott noted out loud. Hermione noticed that Slytherin was not deducted any House Points for speaking out.

"Which means she's not trying," Professor Snape concluded. He made his way to where Hermione sat with Neville and put his hands on their table. Neville was shaking as badly as Hermione felt, but she steadied herself. "Are you so distracted, Miss Granger, that you cannot even answer a simple question?" He turned pointedly to where Draco sat, and Hermione felt her face turn red. Though they hadn't been hiding their relationship, they weren't flaunting it either; Hermione and Draco never walked down the hallways hand-in-hand like other couples, and they were careful in being affectionate only in private. As she wondered how Professor Snape knew, a wind swept through her mind, rifling through her thoughts; she couldn't control it, couldn't stop it, but she tried. As quickly as her mind had raced, it stopped when the Professor turned away. "Do try to pay attention, Miss Granger," he said plainly, as he carried on with the lesson.

* * *

Time passed, and as Winter dwindled, the school buzzed with excitement over the restart of Quidditch. The only thing Hermione felt, however, was frustration as practices and games interfered with D.A. meetings. Why couldn't other students get their priorities straight? Quidditch wasn't going to help them pass exams. But there were other things to look forward to, like an article in the Quibbler Hermione had helped organize, where Harry shared the truth of that night in the graveyard. Umbridge immediately banned the magazine, of course, as the Ministry was hell bent on denying the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but that just made it more popular.

In the article, Harry had disclosed the names of the Death Eaters he'd seen that night, and this, of course, affected various students in school. Draco had been forewarned, and he in turn had told Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, using this opportunity to challenge his friends once more to consider their choices in light of the circumstances.

"It would have come out eventually," Theodore Nott commented casually, having partnered with Hermione and several others during one of their Care of Magical Creatures lessons. They were feeding Thestrals, and being one of the few students who could see them, Theodore was leading their group. "And considering the medium in which it was published, my father will likely talk himself out of any serious inquisition."

"The Quibbler was the best we had," Hermione grumbled, watching Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass run around holding chunks of raw meat in their hands.

"The best your connections could muster, at least – although, Luna Lovegood is brilliant."

Hermione stared at Theodore. "Seriously?" she asked, wondering if he was joking. But he gave her a condescending smile in return, as if Hermione was missing something very obvious.

"Girls, the Thestrals are over there – over there!" Theodore shouted, pointing to a small thicket of trees. "Put the meat down just by that trunk – that's it." He was normally very quiet during class, though Hermione knew he was one of the smarter students in their year, but he seemed to enjoy telling others what to do. "Did you consider Draco at all, when you arranged that article?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, looking away from Dean and Seamus, who were levitating their bits of meat. "Of course we considered Draco; we told him ahead of time."

"That's not consideration," Theodore corrected. "That's just advanced notice." He frowned a little as he studied Hermione. "You didn't even ask him, did you?"

"This is none of your business, Theodore."

"You were afraid he'd say no," the Slytherin pressed. "And he would've been right to , since it's his family on the line." For a boy so wafer-ish, Theodore was surprisingly imposing; it didn't help that he was much taller than Hermione and looked down on her – and judging from his expression, he was looking down on her in more ways than just height. With a sigh, Theodore looked away. "Draco Malfoy is a great wizard," he stated, inferring neither praise nor loyalty. "And you should consider whether you are raising his potential, or limiting it."

It was with this in mind that Hermione attended their next D.A. meeting. Harry was teaching them the Patronus Charm, and Hermione couldn't help but notice that Draco was struggling. She, among a few others, had managed to form a corporeal Patronus, while most of the others could only conjure shimmery wisps. Draco, however, couldn't even manage that.

"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminded everyone, walking around and observing. He gave Draco a friendly pat on the back, which probably didn't help.

"What did you think of when you cast the spell the first time?" Neville asked Harry.

"Umm, that's a bit complicated to explain," he replied, glancing in Hermione's direction. "But it helps to believe you can do it."

' _Confidence and happiness_ ,' Hermione chanted to herself as she watched her Patronus, a shining silver otter, gambol around her. She looked up just in time to catch Draco's eye; to her surprise, he dropped his gaze and turned the other way. Her otter faded as she walked over to him, but before she reached him, the door of the Room of Requirement opened, and closed, and Hermione found herself staring at the new arrival.

"Dobby!" she said, cheerfully, but when she noticed the house-elf's expression, she added, "What's wrong?"

"Dobby has come to warn," he started, his large eyes darting around the room. When he spotted Harry, he squealed in excitement and hurried over. "Harry Potter! Dobby has come to warn you!" he shouted. "But… But the house-elves have been instructed not to tell…"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

The elf opened his mouth several times, but didn't say more. Suddenly, he made a run for the wall, but Harry seized him, knowing from experience that Dobby meant to hurt himself for going against what he was told.

"Dobby," Draco said, moving to stand next to Harry and the house-elf. "You're a free elf, remember? You're not bound to anyone. Now tell us the warning."

Taking a deep breath, Dobby finally said, "She's coming."


	17. Part 17

Mayhem ensued as Harry quickly disbanded the meeting. He ordered Dobby back to the kitchens, to lie if anyone asked him if he'd warned them, and to not hurt himself. "Go on!" he shouted, motioning for Draco to leave with the others. Without a second thought, Draco grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her out with him. They tore down the corridor, turning corners opposite from the others fleeing; soon, they heard footsteps and shouting. Draco pulled Hermione into an empty classroom.

"Quickly," he said, turning to Hermione. "Take off your sweater."

"What?" Hermione asked in a hoarse whisper, just loud enough so Draco knew she was displeased. But there was no time; he hastily pulled his own jumper over his head, loosened his tie, and untucked his shirt. He walked over to Hermione, who had just removed her sweater, tugged her tie down, and pulled open the top of her shirt.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, no longer keeping her voice down. She turned away from him and clasped her shirt with one hand. "What's gotten into you?"

"Just –"

A shout out in the hallway cut Draco off. They looked at each other a quick moment before he lifted her onto a desk, and kissed her hard.

The door opened with a bang: it was Pansy Parkinson. " _You two_ ," she hissed. Draco could feel her rage from where he stood, but it only amused him. "Come with me," she commanded.

"Ten minutes to nine," Draco said casually, glancing down at his wrist watch. "We're not breaking curfew." He looked at Hermione: he could feel her heart racing, but it seemed she'd caught onto his plan. "So why would we go anywhere with you?"

"You two were just in a secret meeting – admit it!"

"You mean this meeting?" Hermione asked, gesturing between Draco and herself. As she ran her hand through his hair, Draco willed himself to stay focused. "It's not exactly a secret, but it's also not the kind of gathering you invite others to," she said with a smile.

Pansy's face twisted as she likely resisted the urge to hex them both. "You two can deny it all you want, but one of your members has already told us all the details. Even if I can't bring you two in, we'll catch one of the others."

Draco had no reason to believe Pansy was lying – how did she know where to look for them after all? Curious to know more, Draco was about to probe Pansy when another student came running down the hall.

"Professor Umbridge got Potter," he said with a wicked smile. He peered into the classroom, spotted Draco and Hermione, and with a smile and a wink, turned back to Pansy. "We should go," he said, pulling her away by the arm.

Pansy was not pleased, despite the news that Harry had been apprehended, and before turning away, she shouted, "Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Prefects can't deduct House points from other Houses," Hermione pointed out.

"Prefects can't, but members of the Inquisitorial Squad can." She pointed to a small silver 'I' on her robes, just beneath her Prefect's badge. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by the High Inquisitor, Professor Dolores Umbridge, herself."

* * *

"It was Marietta," Harry reported glumly the next morning. Meeting before breakfast, he shared as quickly as he could with Ron, Hermione, and Draco, the details of getting caught by Umbridge and being taken to the Headmaster's office, where people from the Ministry had gathered; of how they were saved from Marietta's betrayal by Dumbledore sacrificing his leadership. "And now Umbridge has been appointed Headmistress," Harry finished with an angry sigh. There was a lot going on, but Draco thought Harry looked more tired than usual. It didn't help that Cho and Harry had very publically broken-up first thing that morning: Catching him in the first corridor outside the Gryffindor common room, Cho had originally wanted to apologize to Harry, but when he was still angry, Cho became defensive, saying that Marietta was "a lovely person who had just made a mistake". Harry retorted that Cho should choose her friends a bit more carefully, which really set her off. She accused Harry of caring about his friends – particularly Hermione – more than her, and he concluded by agreeing with her.

Later that afternoon, as Draco and his classmates were traveling through the hall together, he saw Cho, walking alone as Marietta was still in the hospital wing, recovering from the previous night's events. He had planned on ignoring her when they passed, but she grabbed his robe as he walked by.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, motioning for his friends to go on without him. He followed Cho off to the side, where she said, "Don't let her fool you. If it came down to choosing you or Harry, who do you think she'll pick?"

"Five points from Ravenclaw," Blaise said; he'd come back with the other Slytherins. "Don't make other students late, Chang," Blaise reprimanded coldly, crossing his arms.

"Think about it," Cho whispered as she turned and walked away.

"Pretty face, that Chang," Blaise commented, watching Cho leave. "Too bad she's so damaged." A wide smile stretched across his face as he threw an arm around Draco. "Come on," he said with a laugh. "We're going to be late."

* * *

With Dumbledore officially out of office, Hogwarts fell into a state of constant chaos. The Weasley twins let loose an arsenal of their best products, wreaking havoc over every square inch of the castle. Professors did absolutely nothing to discourage or to desist the commotion either, instead, calling on the new Headmistress to handle the disturbances – who, in turn – called on her Inquisitorial Squad for assistance. As the group was served entirely by Slytherin students, it put a great deal of stress on the House.

"There's a place for you, on the Squad, if you want it," Blaise said one evening, as he fell into a plush armchair by the fire. "We could use the help, you know," he added, sounding very tired.

"Why do you do it?" Draco asked, looking up as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle joined them.

"It's as good as working for the Ministry, isn't it?" Vincent answered. "You're the one who keeps telling us to start thinking for ourselves and for our future."

"And it's a chance to redeem our names after what Potter said in the Quibbler," Gregory put in.

"But working for Umbridge…"

"We're working for Hogwarts," Blaise clarified, sitting up. "Some of us are actually trying to maintain a level of integrity and dignity for the school. You've seen what it's been like since Professor Dumbledore's dismissal – Durmstrang didn't have these problems after Karkaroff abandoned them. I can't just sit by and watch Hogwarts fall into disgrace and become the laughing stock of all the Wizarding Schools."

Draco had to admit, they had a point. Slytherin was a proud House, and that pride stood at odds with the way the school was running amok. "Why haven't you joined?" Draco asked Theodore, who was sitting quietly with them, reading a book.

"Because I haven't decided if the Ministry is worth working for," he answered simply. He closed his book and put it on his lap. "Actually, I've been contemplating whether or not to invest in the Weasleys; their stuff is pretty ingenious. Considering how they're quite poor, they'll need a backer to help start their business, and with the state the school's in, they'll likely be doing lots of sales."

"Weasley products are banned," Blaise reminded him pointedly.

But Theodore only smiled. "Contraband always sells better – or haven't you learned that lesson from the Quibbler?"

"All these Educational Decrees won't mean anything once Professor Dumbledore is back," Draco said with finality.

"Well," Blaise said, getting to his feet with a huff. "Until then, it's up to us to look after the school."


	18. Part 18

"You want to _what_?" Harry exclaimed.

"I'm just considering it," Draco said steadily, trying to keep his composure. Harry had been growing more and more irritable, and while Hermione and Ron wouldn't tell Draco why exactly, they'd asked him to be patient with him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as it seemed Harry looked for every opportunity to pick a fight. "The Inquisitorial Squad isn't what you think it is."

"You mean a band of Slytherins on a power-trip, walking around, docking points for fun?"

"They're not all like that," Draco insisted.

"This could be a good thing," Ron offered, trying to be helpful. "I mean Draco could be like our inside man – look the other way when we set off tricks; warn us if Umbridge plans a raid. Oh, and he can share the really good stuff he confiscates – you'll do that, won't you?"

Draco regarded Ron with a mix of mild disdain and disappointment. "Don't push your shoddy Prefect practices onto me," he said with a slight shake of his head. He shared the discussion he'd had with his housemates, explaining how serving on the Squad could benefit the school. But it was clear Harry wasn't even thinking about the school anymore; his priorities lay elsewhere.

"Why don't we think about it a bit more," Hermione suggested, glancing cautiously at Harry.

"No," Harry replied flatly. "There's no need. You're not doing it."

"Excuse me? But the last I checked, Potter, I don't take orders from you."

"Then why bother asking?" Harry exploded. "You're just wasting our time."

"Apparently," Draco remarked. "But I was under the impression that friends discuss things with each other, bounce ideas off each other, and maybe even support each other. Perhaps I'm mistaken."

"That that's what friends do, or that we're friends?" Harry quipped.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "He doesn't mean that," she said, turning to Draco. She put her hands on Harry's shoulders, trying to calm him down. "You don't mean that, Harry!"

"I do if Malfoy's joining up with the Inquisitorial Squad."

It was with great effort that Draco suppressed the urge to punch Harry; somehow, he felt fighting might be the only effective way of communicating with him, and it was so much easier than using words. "I was part of the D.A. too," he reminded him, getting to his feet. "Or does none of that matter?"

"Well, it doesn't mean much if you're joining the other side."

"What other side?" Draco asked, raising his voice. "I'm trying to maintain some semblance of order in the school that's so very important to us all, and to Professor Dumbledore. If I have to work alongside Umbridge to achieve that, then so be it, but that is very different than working for her or for the Ministry."

"It's as good as," Harry snapped, also getting to his feet. He locked eyes with Draco in a stare down.

"Look, Harry," Ron said, standing up and putting his arms out to hold Draco and Harry apart. "Malfoy joining the Squad might not be such a bad thing."

"I'm trying to save the world from Voldemort, and he's going to work against me?"

"But he's not!" Hermione cried. She grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and forced him to look at her. They shared a secret wordless conversation, and while Harry didn't seem any less worked-up, he at least took a step back.

"Saving the world," Draco repeated, pushing Ron's hand away. "Well, I might not have such lofty goals, but I am trying to help by keeping Hogwarts together. When you realize that, I'll be waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Harry asked, still glaring at Draco.

"An apology."

* * *

When Draco returned to his room, he hexed his pillow, scattering feathers all over the floor. He was so angry, he didn't immediately notice the small envelope addressed to him on his bedside table. He opened it up and quickly read over it. With a smile, Draco ran over to his trunk, threw it open, and rummaged around, retrieving a handful of golden Galleons. He pocketed the coins and the note, and ran out. It was his first time to the Kitchens, and he nearly got lost trying to remember his way. When he reached the painting of the giant fruit-bowl, he was glad he was by himself, because he felt ridiculous tickling a painting of a pear, and it took some convincing for it to turn into a large green door handle.

Stepping through the door, Draco entered a large room with stone walls and high-ceilings. A large fire burned to one side, making the mountains of pots, pans, and dishes glitter in its flickering light. At least a hundred house-elves turned toward Draco, and bowed and curtseyed before continuing their business.

"Young Master!" Dobby cried, hurrying over. His appearance was peculiar, as usual, which Draco took as a good sign. "Young Master received Dobby's reply?"

"I did, thanks," Draco replied. "That's why I'm here, actually."

"Is the young Master wanting tea?" Draco turned to find a different elf standing beside him; she had bat-like ears and a large nose. She didn't wear the same uniform as the other elves, and judging from how depressed she looked, he wondered if she was a "free elf" as well. "Winky already knows from Dobby how the Young Master takes his tea."

"Umm, sure," Draco agreed. "Thank you."

"Young Master is not needing to thank Winky," she said, a small smile forming on her lips as she hurried off.

"Dobby has not seen Winky so happy since she started working at Hogwarts," Dobby said, bouncing on his toes.

"Right," Draco said, turning his attention back to Dobby. He pulled the note from his pocket and unfolded it. "So these are your only conditions," he said, reading them over. "And this is the price you want to be paid?"

Dobby nodded his head enthusiastically. "Oh yes," he said. "And not a Knut more or Dobby will refuse."

"Right," Draco said again. "I guess all that's left is for us to sign then." A different house-elf appeared quite suddenly and offered Draco a quill. "Thanks," he muttered as the elf bowed and waddled away. He signed the parchment before having Dobby do the same. They both touched their thumbs to the tip of the quill and pressed their prints next to their signatures.

"What is Young Master and Dobby doing?" Winky asked, returning with a hot cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. She set them down before Draco and stared at their paper.

"Dobby is signing a contract with Draco Malfoy," he said cheerfully. "But one of Dobby's conditions is that he will not serve Master or Mistress Malfoy."

"Contract?" Winky asked, peering up at Draco with her large eyes. "Dobby is bound to Young Master?" She looked positively heart-broken as she said this.

"Not exactly," Draco said quickly, trying to stop Winky from crying. "It's just a temporary contract – it's not forever. I just need Dobby's help with some things. And he's getting paid."

"So… no clothes," Winky said, sounding sad. She tugged at the filthy dress she wore and sighed. "Winky would like some new clothes."

"Winky can wear the Hogwarts uniform," Dobby suggested.

"It's a lovely tea-towel," Draco added for extra encouragement, but it didn't seem to help as Winky burst into tears. "Here's your payment," he said to Dobby, speaking loudly over Winky's wailing. He took three Galleons from his pocket and handed them to Dobby. "Three now and three upon termination of our contract." Dobby took the Galleons and after bowing so low his nose nearly touched the ground, he put them in the pocket of his odd little trousers. With a sigh, Draco took a sip of his tea.

* * *

The only person who seemed truly upset with Draco joining the Inquisitorial Squad (other than Harry, of course) was Pansy, because he immediately seized leadership over the group from her. This was to be expected though; Pansy was running the Squad like Umbridge was running the school, and what both entities needed was someone with vision, and a touch of charisma. The first thing he did was address the collective; there was no point in being a leader without followers, after all.

"Hogwarts," he began, speaking intentionally and with careful articulation, "has fallen into a state of disarray. This once revered house of Witchcraft and Wizardry is now home to party tricks and cheap magic. While Hogwarts has always stood separate from the Ministry of Magic, this is no longer the case, and to aide in the transition, Headmistress Umbridge has created this Inquisitorial Squad, and charged us with the responsibility of bringing order back within these walls. With authority over all students, we must tread carefully; tyranny leads to dissension, and cruelty breeds unrest." He paused to let these words sink in; it was important that they understand how delicate the balance of power was. "This is our opportunity," he continued with a smile, "to show the strength of Slytherin. We will be the foundation on which Hogwarts stands, and the pillars that uphold its greatness." To this, rose a murmur of accord from the group. "Be exemplars to our peers be they first or seventh-year. Lead with cunning and resourcefulness, and act in justifiable fairness. Let us gather the school under one banner – the banner of Hogwarts!" A bit dramatic? Perhaps, but it served to unite his troops beneath him. He just needed one more thing to assert his authority…

"And why should we listen to you?" Pansy asked, stepping forward and crossing her arms. Draco smiled: Bingo. "If you hadn't noticed, you're late to the party, and we've already got a good thing going."

"Yes, I can see how you've managed to raise Hogwarts to its full glory, Pansy," Draco commented facetiously. A couple of students managed to stifle a laugh, while another failed to suppress a snort. "Well, there's two ways to settle this: would you like to vote or duel?" Pansy Parkinson was many things, but a fool, she was not.

"Let's duel," Pansy replied.

…Okay, maybe she was a fool too. The other members of the Squad formed a wide circle around the two and watched with bated breath. "Need to go over the rules?" Draco asked, drawing his wand.

"Shut up and fight, Malfoy," Pansy hissed.

They faced each other and bowed. A moment later, Pansy was sent reeling back, crashing into three other students; her wand arched high through the air and was caught lithely by her opponent. The room erupted into a wave of noise.

"Did you see that?" one of the younger students murmured. "He didn't even say anything!"

"What was that, two seconds? Three?" Blaise commented with a laugh.

"I don't know," Gregory guffawed. "I blinked and it was over!"

Draco turned on the spot, looking at the other members. "For the record, are there any other challengers?" They shook their heads, regarding Draco with shock and awe.

"They're scared, Draco," Pansy shouted, just starting to sit up. "No one will fight you because they're scared."

He closed the distance between them in a few strides, and looking down at her, said, "That's not fear; that's confidence – confidence that I can lead them." He straightened and stood to his full height. He levitated Pansy's wand just above her head, forcing her to look up at him. "Get in line, or get out." Slowly, Pansy reached up and took her wand, but she did not stand; she lowered her eyes – which burned with hatred – before Draco. Stepping back, Draco spoke once more to the entire group. "Abuse of power will not be tolerated. Don't lie about it or try to hide it, because I will find out, and the punishment will fit the crime." He dismissed the group, leaving first.

Running through the halls and up several flights of stairs, Draco relished the exhilaration of his accomplishment, and thought, for sure, he'd be able to conjure a Patronus. He burst onto the rooftop of one of the castle's turrets and threw out his arm.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," he shouted.

Nothing happened.

With a sigh of exasperation, Draco collapsed with his back against the stone. Again, he'd felt the energy course through his body, but he hadn't managed to produce anything. No manifestation of his delight in the form of a Patronus; not even a puff of silver smoke. He turned around and looked over the school grounds as a warm wind ruffled through his hair. ' _Well,_ ' he thought to himself with a smile. ' _No matter._ '


	19. Part 19

"Your report, Mr Malfoy." Headmistress Umbridge paced back and forth behind her desk, causing the kittens in the ornamental plates adorning the office walls to mew incessantly.

"I'm pleased to report that incidentals have decreased by twenty-percent."

The Headmistress stopped walking and turned sharply in Draco's direction. "Twenty?" she repeated, sounding disappointed. The cries of the kittens grew louder; she waved them into silence with a hand. "Twenty? That's hardly what I expect from you, Mr Malfoy."

Draco shifted in his seat. "I am but one student," he reasoned. "Headmistress, if I may speak plainly…" He waited for Umbridge's permission before continuing. "I'm sure you, of all people, understand the dire state of education in Hogwarts, and find no surprise that my peers are miserably unqualified. Personally, I have never been more grateful that my parents had the diligence to hire me a private tutor, but as I said before: I am but one student." He paused as the Headmistress took a seat behind her desk and poured herself a cup of tea.

"And what would you suggest then?" she asked, not because she wanted his opinion, but because she was vetting him. Unsurprisingly, she had her reservations about Draco despite the clout his family name provided him; he was friends with Harry Potter, after all.

"Allow me to choose new members for the Inquisitorial Squad," he began. "And allow us to be adequately trained for the position we serve."

"I will not have Harry Potter reform his secret group under the guise of the Inquisitorial Squad," Umbridge said loudly. Her bulgy eyes looked ready to spring from their sockets, but Draco remained calm.

"I assure you, Headmistress, that Potter will not be joining the Squad. Neither he nor I would stand for that." He straightened in his seat and met Umbridge's gaze. "He has made very clear that he stands in opposition to the Ministry, whereas I am more than willing to cooperate. While I still consider him a contemporary, we will not – and cannot – work together." Draco knew this wouldn't convince Umbridge, that she'd still be skeptical, but he wasn't worried. A loud explosion sounded in the hallway, and he noted, with silent satisfaction, the frazzled reaction of the Headmistress. He got to his feet slowly and said, "If you'll excuse me, Professor Umbridge, but that sounds like a matter I should attend to. Please give my request some consideration, and let me know in due time."

He exited her office and walked down the hall; he could see smoke drifting from around one of the corners. Reaching the point of incident, he glanced around: no one was there.

"Well?" a disembodied voice asked as Draco examined a scorch mark left on the carpeting.

"The Headmistress needs some more convincing, but I think she's nearly there," Draco replied with a quiet smile. He then turned in the direction of the voice and frowned. "The Disillusionment Charm doesn't pair well with smoke, Weasley; I can see your outline."

"You learn something new everyday," George Weasley said, growing solid from the outline Draco spotted. "Cheers, mate. So, what do you reckon it'll take to convince ol' Umbridge then?"

Draco whisked the smoke away with a wave of his wand. "I don't know," he answered as the two boys started making their way down to the Great Hall. "And I don't want to know. Do what you will – but do only what is necessary."

With a wide, mischievous grin, George nodded.

* * *

Later that same week, an exasperated Umbridge granted Draco the authority to recruit and train the Inquisitorial Squad. Among the new members were students from all the Houses – except Gryffindor; there were a few who were interested, Ginny Weasley among them, but after a long conversation with her, they reached the decision that Gryffindor was better left separate. Ginny took care of relaying this to her housemates without revealing her conversation with Draco, a diplomatic feat that impressed the Slytherin.

The organizing of the new Inquisitorial Squad proved to be a daunting task for Draco. On top of classes, homework, and studying for his upcoming O.W.L.s, he had to somehow manage this small army – the unescapable reality for a leader, he supposed. He'd tested each member of the Squad to gauge their ability and to form groups for patrol and other duties, and while he'd thought he'd stretched the truth of how poorly educated his fellows were, he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't true. Yes, he was one of the brightest students in Hogwarts, and yes, he'd been tutored at home every summer since he'd learned to do magic (which was quite young, according to his parents), but how was it that every other student was so… far below? There was the student here and there who was capable, but their talent was faulted by their lack of discipline, or lack of conviction, and sometimes their ideals and personal philosophy. He decided that there needed to be a standard to which every member needed to meet, but in order to get everyone up to par, he first needed time. So he proposed to the Headmistress that Inter-House Quidditch be cancelled. Slytherin, having lost badly against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, had little hope of winning the House Cup, so he cared little if the season was properly ended. Other students were – as expected – outraged; even certain members of the Inquisitorial Squad protested, but he had anticipated as much, and used this opportunity to weed out any students whose priorities were not in-line with his vision for the Squad. He certainly didn't need any half-hearted soldiers with their own ideas of what was best for the school.

* * *

One evening, as Draco was devising the schedules for patrol and training, he was interrupted by Theodore. "Got a moment?" he asked with a curious smile. Theodore had joined the Inquisitorial Squad immediately after Draco under the reason that, with Draco in command, the Squad might be worth something – or, at the very least, amusing.

"Sure," Draco replied, putting down his papers. Theodore asked him to wait as he disappeared, returning a minute later with Fred and George Weasley. It wasn't against the rules for students of another house to visit other common rooms, but it was the first time in Draco's knowledge that a non-Slytherin student came to their commons.

"Nice place," Fred complimented, looking around. "Very green."

"Cozy too," George added, wrapping his arms around himself for effect. "Hard to do with a dungeon, but Slytherin nailed it."

"So," Draco started warily, gesturing for the other boys to sit. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company?"

Fred cracked a smile. "Esteemed, eh? Lofty words from the fifteen year-old running the school."

"I could say the same," Draco returned. "Being the other side of the same coin."

"Well, it has been good for business," said George, reclining into a chaise longue. He looked at Theodore, adding, "Our sales have increased by eighty-percent since Umbridge took over as Headmistress; almost makes me want to send her something as a thank you."

"We've got some Nifflers kicking around somewhere," Fred noted, his smile frighteningly sincere.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me: You're actually in business with them, Theo?"

Theodore shrugged, indicating he was not about to divulge any information that might incriminate him. With a rather telling smile, Theodore implied that Draco might be playing a similar game with the Weasleys. "So," Draco said, pressing on and leaving the exact relationship between the four of them ambiguous and unexplored. "What's this meeting for? Surely you aren't here to glean decorating ideas from our common room."

"I quite like this chair," George commented.

"You can't have it," Draco answered flatly.

Fred sat forward in his seat and spoke in hushed tones. "We thought we'd grant you the courtesy of advanced notice."

Draco looked between the three other boys in turn. "Advanced notice of what?" he asked. The twins exchanged smirks while Theodore looked much too comfortable for Draco's liking. His mind was filling with questions, but he pushed them aside, choosing patience instead.

"Fred and I are thinking of having a bit of a send-off."

"For whom?"

"Someone special."

"And someone _esteemed_ ," Fred added. George frowned, but Draco didn't really notice. He was having a hard time understanding the meaning behind these words.

"I don't get it," he admitted at last. "Is this a party you're planning?"

"You could call it that." George sat up and got to his feet. "Well, we just wanted to let you know. Can't give away all the details or we'll lose the element of surprise."

"Wait," Draco said quickly, also standing up. "I need to know more – if something serious is –"

"Relax, Malfoy," George interrupted, clapping Draco on the back. Fred threw his arm around Draco's shoulders and leaned in to finish his brother's thought. "You don't want to know – believe me." Wearing their classic smirks of mischief, they started walking back to the door. "It's been a pleasure Draco, truly. Theodore: we'll see you around."

After the Weasley twins had gone, leaving Draco with Theodore in the commons, the two boys stared at each other without saying anything, but then Theodore cracked a smile.

"What?" he laughed, falling back into a chair. "You said it yourself: Two sides of the same coin." He gave Draco that look that suggested he knew more than he was willing to say. "There's no value in just one half or the other."


	20. Part 20

**Author's Note:**

 **Hello Dear Readers! Firstly, thank you so much for investing your time and energy in reading this story. My sincere appreciation stems from the very depths of my heart and soul. Secondly, moving forward, things are going to seriously stray from canon, and while I will always do my best to write characters as true to their creation as possible, some fundamental things must change. Please stay with me throughout the remainder of this story, and please feel free to openly review and provide me feedback.**

* * *

Draco felt like he'd aged about five years in just a few short months. It didn't help that he wasn't able to see his girlfriend; due to Harry's increasing moodiness, Hermione spent more time trying to soothe her best friend than she even spent studying, and any couple-time they managed seemed to really aggravate Harry, so it didn't happen often. So, it was with real surprise and great delight that Draco received a note from her one morning in the Great Hall; it was just a slip of paper with two words written on it: _Ignatia Wildsmith_.

"What's that?" Theodore asked, taking a seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table. "Name sounds familiar but I can't quite place her."

Draco shrugged; who Ignatia Wildsmith was irrelevant to _what_ it meant. "It's code," he explained, smiling at his friend. "See, Granger and I came up with this system where she –"

Theodore got to his feet before Draco could finish and moved a few seats down, leaving Draco alone. He then made a point of looking in the other direction. With a smile, Draco folded up the slip of paper and tucked it into one of his pockets. It had been over a week since he and Hermione had spent any time together alone, and though he suspected they'd likely be studying for their O.W.L.s, he didn't care; he missed her.

So, that evening after dinner, Draco made a trip to the library; he found Hermione waiting for him in the section of biographies on famous inventors. She clutched a thick stack of papers in her arms as she browsed a book, and looked up at Draco with a smile when she saw him. "Hi," she said, putting the book back on the shelf. Draco walked toward her and drew her into a tight embrace; he rested his head against hers and took a moment to enjoy having her in his arms again. "Draco," she said with a small sigh. She extended her arms and pushed him back a little. "We don't have a lot of time. We've only got about an hour while Harry's with Professor Snape for his Remedial Potions lesson." She took his hand and started to lead him through the maze of shelves, desks, tables, and books. Draco knew exactly where they were going, but he had never managed to get there himself – that is, without Hermione. Like many other magical parts of Hogwarts, the Library had sections that appeared only on certain days of the week, or were hidden behind magic doors, or were known to rearrange themselves. This one particular section they were heading to was a place only Hermione seemed able to get to. The shelves were oddly bare, and the only books present were about an Asian-European Wizard Artist from the 1800s, who supposedly had the ability to alter his paint – changing the texture, colour, or even type of paint – as he painted. Hermione had a habit of hoarding books and stashing them in this section, like her own private library.

She pushed her stack of papers into Draco's hands and started rummaging through her personal collection of books. "What are these?" Draco asked, flipping through the papers.

"Old exam papers," Hermione replied. She pulled several books from the shelves and placed them on the ground, beckoning Draco to join her. Upon closer inspection, Draco saw that what he held were indeed old exams written by other students who'd taken their O.W.L.s before them.

"Where did you even find these?" Draco asked with astonishment, but Hermione waved off the question without answer. She flipped through the books until they all lay open on the floor, then she took the papers back from Draco, and laid them down according to each subject of each book. "This is … a bit much, even for you, isn't it, Granger?"

"There is no such thing as being over-prepared for a test," Hermione retorted with a frown. "I've barely had any time to study with Harry being …"

"What about Potter?" Draco prompted after Hermione trailed off. He imagined it was very hard for her to remember what she was allowed to say to him and what she wasn't; he wondered if it pressed on her heart any that she kept such secrets from her boyfriend. "Never mind," Draco started to say, but Hermione continued, speaking quickly.

"He's been having visions while he sleeps – not dreams, but actual visions. He sees what…" she paused and glanced around quickly, lowering her voice before continuing. "What Voldemort sees. It's like a television programme –"

Television, Draco recalled, was a Muggle invention where images appeared on a screen in a box; it had something to do with that Muggle thing called electricity and colour and glass and… He must have looked confused because Hermione retracted the analogy. "It's like a telepathic connection," she said instead. "He sees what Voldemort sees and what he does, and oftentimes, experiences emotional recoil. It causes his scar to burn, and he's gotten sick over it many times since it's started. Dumbledore's ordered him to take Occlumency Lessons with Professor Snape, but I don't think they're going very well."

It was a lot of information to take in at once, and Draco had to build a few mental bridges to connect the things Hermione was saying to the things she wasn't. "So, you mean to say, Potter's taking Occlumency Lessons with Professor Snape right now – not Remedial Potions?" Draco was surprised; he thought Harry quite needed remedial lessons for Potions. "And you said he sees what the Dark Lord does? And … feels?" The next question that popped into Draco's mind was one that gave him chills. "Does the Dark Lord know? Is he aware of this connection?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered glumly.

"And Professor Snape – he's a _Death Eater_ , Hermione!"

" _And_ a member of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione shared in a hushed voice. "He's Dumbledore's inside man." She watched Draco for a moment before slumping back against the shelves; she leaned her head on Draco's shoulder and sighed. "And here I thought taking our O.W.L.s was going to be the most stressful part of this year."

Draco kissed her head lightly and she looked up at him with a smile of appreciation. He tilted up her chin and kissed her lips; they were soft and just a bit raw – as if she'd been biting them, which she often did when she was worried. He kissed them again in the fashion one would kiss a bruise or small cut.

This led to… well, not very much studying, but it was probably just what the two needed to wrap up a long arduous day. Or at least it would have, if they hadn't been interrupted by Dobby, who appeared, rather shockingly, with a loud crack.

"Oh, hello Dobby," Hermione said, brushing her hair back to hide her slight embarrassment. Draco found this behaviour puzzling but adorable; having grown up in an aristocratic home that owned house-elves, Draco knew it was the elf who should be embarrassed, appearing when he had not been summoned. But this was Dobby.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked immediately. He silently reminded Dobby that their contract was not public information, and that for the time being, he wanted it to remain that way. Hermione had her secrets; he did too.

After a slight bow of his head, Dobby said, "It's Harry Potter. Dobby has seen him running out from the dungeons."

Okay: So Draco had asked Dobby to keep an eye on his friends and report anything of concern or dangerously out of the ordinary. It was his way of caring.

"Dungeons?" Hermione repeated, sounding startled. She checked her watch. "But his lesson shouldn't be –"

"And Professor Snape is yelling as Harry Potter is running," Dobby added, speaking over Hermione – something else a normal house-elf wouldn't dream of doing. Dobby gently pinched his ears in an obsessive manner, probably reminiscent of his former habit of self-punishment. "Harry Potter is looking upset," he added sounding quite sad. He looked at Draco with large, hopeful eyes, as if asking to be commanded to make things better. But Draco couldn't do that.

"Did he see you?" Draco asked instead; while the house-elves of Hogwarts always worked unseen, this particular free-elf had a tendency to act on his own whim. Dobby shook his head.

"I should go," said Hermione, getting to her feet.

"But what about studying?" Draco also jumped to his feet, hoping to dissuade Hermione from leaving. "He's not hurt – Did he look hurt or in need of immediate attention?" he demanded from the house-elf. Dobby started to nod his head but after a stern look from Draco, shook it instead. "See! Hermione, stay. You don't have to run to him every time something happens. And it's no secret Potter and Snape don't get along; they probably just had a disagreement. Come on." He held her hand fast and begged with his eyes. He didn't want her to go; he wanted her to stay with him. For a moment, Hermione seemed she would, but with a sigh, she shook her head.

"I should go," she said again, looking genuinely sorry. She tip-toed to press her lips to Draco's cheek, then gently pushed back his hair with a smile. She stooped down to gather a few things before turning to leave.

* * *

The next morning, it was Harry who was waiting for Draco, and he looked considerably less pleased to see him.

"What is it, Potter?" Draco asked irritably. He hadn't meant to be short with his friend, but Harry's expression was so abrasive, Draco automatically braced himself for a fight.

"Hermione shared with you some things yesterday that you're not supposed to know," he said. He pushed himself off the wall on which he leaned and unfolded his arms, revealing his wand held loosely between his fingers.

"Have you ever considered she's shouldering a lot more than she should have to?" Draco countered, watching Harry warily. "One person can only take so much."

"Be that as it may," continued Harry, "we can't have you knowing." He raised his wand.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

"Adjusting your memory; what you don't know won't concern you." Despite his threat, Harry hesitated, giving Draco enough time to grab his own wand. The spell flew at him straight and true, but he blocked it and stepped to the side.

"Think about what you're doing, Potter! I'm a member of the Inquisitorial Squad: I could –" Bad move. Bringing up the Inquisitorial Squad only further motivated Harry to wipe Draco's memories – and who knows how far he'd take it now. The easy part was knowing when Harry would attack; he hadn't mastered wordless spells yet, but the rapid-firing of his spells left Draco very few openings to counter, especially when Draco had no real intention of harming Harry. Draco also knew their duel needed to end soon as other students would be filing out from the Slytherin common room, and they would not take Harry's attack on one of their own lightly. Finally, Draco managed to throw Harry off balance, and his next move surprised even himself: Draco ran forward and punched Harry.

The well-raised boy of affluence had no idea how much throwing a punch actually hurt, especially when it connected with something as hard as bone. Harry's glasses flew off his face as he reeled on the spot; Draco winced as he retracted his fist. The other thing the young Malfoy didn't know was that fights don't often end with a single punch. Harry turned right around and slugged Draco back. The other boy drew his fist for another throw, but apparently couldn't judge depth very well without his glasses; his second punch fell short of its target, causing him to stumble over with the force of his own swing. Lunging at the falling boy, Draco tackled Harry, slamming him into the ground. He grabbed the front of his robes and pushed him down, punching him once more across the face. Harry kicked with his legs in an attempt to throw Draco off; with a push of effort, Harry managed to roll the other boy, landing on top. He punched Draco once, and probably would have kept going if he wasn't pulled off of him.

"Get off me!" Harry protested, thrashing violently.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing, Potter?" shouted the familiar voice of Blaise. Even with two wands pointed at him, Harry did not stop fighting.

"It's alright," Draco said, pushing himself up. "Let him go."

"Are you sure?" Theodore asked, giving Draco a calculating look. Draco nodded, and the others released him, dropping their wands. Draco was handed back his wand by one of the other boys, and he magically summoned Harry's wand and glasses, returning them to their owner. Harry took them while giving Draco a steady look.

"You're bleeding," he said, noting a cut on Draco's lip.

"Yeah and who's fault is that?" Draco replied with a smirk. He wiped the blood with the sleeve of his robe. "Are your glasses broken?"

Harry pointed his wand at his glasses. " _Reparo_ ," he said. "Not anymore."

"Going to try and alter my memory again, Potter?" Draco asked, extending his hand to Harry.

With a smile, Harry reached out and grasped it. "Not with the better members of the Inquisitorial Squad around, I'm not."

The two boys shook, and before they released, Draco stepped in. "I know it's not going to be easy, but we're eventually going to have to trust each other."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "I know. Emphasis on the 'not easy' part. But," he added, green-eyes softening ever so slightly. "I think, Hermione might be the key, being the one girl we both love."

"Yeah," Draco echoed slowly. "Love…"


	21. Part 21

Draco and Theodore stood side-by-side in the main corridor of the fifth floor.

"What are we supposed to do?" Draco asked, glancing over. In Theodore's hands was a small cube; on it was written, ' _Portable Swamp: Just add water!_ ' Sure, the instructions were simple enough, but Draco carried some doubts. He checked his watch and trained his ears to detect any noise in the distance. They'd cleared the entire floor of students – just as they'd been instructed. "So we just –"

"Add water," Theodore finished with a shrug. "And then…" he looked around but they were the only two there.

"You're sure about the time?" Draco asked.

"Yes," answered Theodore, taking no effort to hide his exasperation.

"And this _is_ the right corridor?"

" _Yes_."

"On the right floor."

"Draco…"

A couple of first-years came up the stairs, lost in laughter among themselves. They froze when they spotted the two fifth-year Slytherins guarding the hall. "This floor is closed," Theodore declared, wresting a small squeak from one of the younger students. "Ten points from Hufflepuff," he added with a bit of a sneer. "Now, scoot!"

Looking on the verge of tears, the two first-years fled. As if nothing had happened, Theodore checked the time again. "Theo," Draco said with a look of surprise. "That was a blatant abuse of your authority."

"Really?" Theodore challenged. "You'd rather I let those two waltz through and catch us in the act? Or would you have liked them stranded on the other side of this Portable Swamp we've no idea how large or dangerous is going to be."

"You've no idea the size of the Swamp?" asked Draco with a little concern. "Aren't you a partner or something?"

"General investor in the company," Theodore clarified. "I don't know what goes into the making of the products; I leave all that to the geniuses."

"Never heard a kinder word," Fred Weasley said, suddenly appearing. Draco wondered where he'd come from when he saw George step out after him from behind a suit of armor.

"Indeed, Brother mine," the second Weasley agreed. He clapped an arm around Theodore and shook him in a friendly manner. Both boys were tall, but Theodore was so much thinner, it seemed he might snap in half from George's enthusiasm. Fred checked the time on a pocket-watch he retrieved from inside his robes.

"Only a few minutes now, mates," he said, snapping it shut with a click.

"So," Draco started again. "We just add water."

George nodded once. "Simple, eh? Make it too hard and people won't be interested. A swamp at hand should be an easy sort of thing, not a complicated task that takes twenty-minutes to set-up."

"Because who would want a swamp that takes twenty-minutes to set-up," Theodore commented dryly.

"Exactly," Fred said, winking at the boy.

"So we just add water," Draco said a third time.

Theodore gave him a withering look. "You know, Draco, you've been a bit off ever since that day –"

Draco clapped loudly, cutting Theodore off. "Well, gentlemen, I think it's just about time," he said with an exaggerated glance at his watch. He didn't want to recall _that_ moment just yet; it'd had enough trouble settling the first time around. He snatched the cube from Theodore's hands and placed it on the ground.

"Actually," George corrected, picking it up. He cleared his throat and smiled at his brother; Fred snapped up his wand and nodded with a wide grin in return. Turning back to Draco, George continued: "It goes a bit like this."

Winding back, he launched the cube into the air, and just as it begun its descent, Fred directed his wand and shouted, " _Aquamenti_."

The water splashed over the cube and in an instant, it inflated into an enormous swamp the width and length of the entire corridor, growing down from its place in the air. "Size of the Swamp directly correlates to the amount of water you apply," Fred explained with a smug smile of satisfaction. "Now, all that's left is for you to turn us in."

* * *

The departure of the Weasley Twins came as a surprise to Draco, even though he had been forewarned that they'd planned something big. The great challenge now was trying to keep actual peace with numerous students vying to take their place as Chief Mischief Maker. Thankfully, O.W.L.s were literally around the corner, and Draco gladly left an older Slytherin in charge of the Inquisitorial Squad while he turned his focus to his exams.

What he ended up focusing on, however, was Harry's "love" comment. While the dark-haired boy had immediately clarified that he loved Hermione "like a sister", it didn't recant the implication that _Draco_ loved Hermione. But did he? He was barely sixteen! How was he supposed to know? Yeah, he loved being with her, and he loved when she smiled and the way her hair smelled; he adored her brilliance and tenacity, and the way she rolled those beautiful brown-eyes when she was exasperated. But that didn't mean he was _in love_ with her… Did it?

With his mind in a fog, he was surprised to have survived the first week of exams – especially since, at the end of his practical exam for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry's examiner had asked him to produce a Patronus, which he did, and rather spectacularly. The shimmering stag, cantering down the Great Hall past all the other students and examiners metaphorically gutted Draco; Harry could do it, so why couldn't he?

As if he didn't have enough things plaguing his mind, in the middle of the second week of exams, in the middle of the Astronomy exam, which was held in the middle of the night, Hagrid was quite literally chased off grounds by Professor Umbridge and a small band of supporters in a small battle where Hagrid took out nearly all his attackers before sprinting off into the night. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall got caught up in the ordeal when she ran out to defend the Groundskeeper, and received no less than four stunners to the chest. The Gryffindors were beside themselves, and after the exam had ended, Draco and the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad present had their hands full keeping them from immediate retaliation. Somehow, he managed to convince them to return to their quarters, and just when he got back to his own room, thinking he could lay his weary head down, he found Imperia perched on his desk, a letter tied to her leg. She fluttered over to him immediately, hooting impatiently for him to receive his note. It was from his father:

' _Dear Draco_ ,' it began.

 _It is imperative that you remain at Hogwarts no matter what situation might entice you to leave. I know that we have not met eye-to-eye on certain matters, and I promise that, when you come home for the summer, we will discuss them – as men. But for now, I need you, as my son, to listen to me – your father. Do not leave Hogwarts._

"Imperia!" Draco shouted as he frantically searched for a spare piece of parchment and his quill. Only after gathering these things did he notice that his owl had already flown away – unusual behaviour considering he hadn't even rewarded her for the delivery. This only furthered Draco's ominous feeling. "Dobby," he then said, more to himself than an actual summon, but moments later, the elf appeared.

"Time for tea?" Dobby asked cheerfully, looking at Draco with his large, spherical eyes. He wore a bright purple-knit hat that Draco was sure he'd seen Hermione knit not too long ago. It bobbed up and down on his head as he swayed where he stood, awaiting his order.

"I need you to deliver a letter for me."

"Certainly, Young Master. Dobby loves delivering letters and never, ever reads them first." He pulled on his ears sheepishly, causing his hat to fall off.

Draco began scribbling his note, asking his father for clarification. "I need you to take this to my dad, and I need you to get his reply before returning." When Dobby made a loud gulping noise, Draco looked up from his letter. He remembered Dobby's contractual stipulations. "It's really important," Draco said quickly, hoping to convince the now fearful-looking elf. "It might be really important to Harry as well."

But slowly, Dobby shook his head. "Dobby must refuse," he said in a very quiet voice.

"Dobby!" Draco got to his feet and walked over to the elf. "You have to! Something bad is going to happen and I need to know what! Only you can do this!"

"Dobby must refuse," the elf said once more, this time a little louder.

"DOBBY!" Draco yelled – but then he stopped himself. Dobby stared at him looking both terrified and adamant; there would be no convincing him, and he was not obligated to comply. With a heavy sigh, Draco fell onto his bed and ran his hands over his face. "No, you're right. I'm sorry." When he looked up at the house-elf again, he smiled meekly. "Dobby, I'm sorry."

"Dobby is sorry," the little elf apologized as well. He took small steps toward where Draco sat on his bed. "Young Master said… something bad is to happen? To Harry Potter?"

"I'm not sure," answered Draco, feeling very tired. He stared at the elf for a moment and thought. "Dobby, I might need your help soon – I promise it won't have anything to do with my family but… it could be dangerous."

To his surprise, the elf perked up. "If Dobby can help, Dobby will help."

"Whatever I ask you, Dobby, remember this: Keep Harry and his friends safe, and keep yourself safe. Okay?"

The house-elf nodded before bowing low to the ground, his purple hat falling off once more. He picked it up and placed it on his head again. "Alright," Draco said with a sigh. "Thanks, Dobby."

On his way out, Dobby side-stepped to the desk where Draco's half-written letter to his father still lay and grabbed it. Draco watched curiously as the house-elf shuffled to the fireplace in the room where he dropped the letter into the flames. Then, with one final bow, he disappeared.


	22. Part 22

The following morning, before heading to the Great Hall for breakfast, Draco stopped by Professor Umbridge's office. She agreed to his audience but seemed in a particularly bad mood; Draco would have to be careful.

"Headmistress, a number of the students are concerned with Professor Hagrid's dismissal."

With her lips pursed and her hands tightly folded on her desk, the Headmistress stared a long while at Draco. "That is not a matter that students should be concerned with," she said at last. "If you have any problems, you have my permission to administer punishment."

"Punishment?"

Umbridge's thin lips curled into a sickeningly sweet smile. "Whatever you'd like. Be creative."

"I'm not inquiring about punishment, Headmistress," Draco clarified. "Professor Hagrid's discharge was seen by every fifth-year during the Astronomy examination, and now every student in the entire school –"

The Headmistress slammed her hand on her desk, cutting Draco off. "Well _what_ are you here for then, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, raising her voice. "Your job is to deal with the students in the manner in which I want them to be dealt with. But perhaps you're not the right person for that after all." Before Draco could say anything, she got to her feet. "Turn in your badge. You are dismissed."

Now Draco got to his feet too, and despite towering over the Headmistress, she did not waver. "Headmistress Umbridge, have you considered what I have done for this school since joining the Inquisitorial Squad?"

"Mr Malfoy: Perhaps you didn't hear me. You. Are. Dismissed."

* * *

Draco stalked into the Great Hall and took a seat at the Slytherin table. For a moment, with his fists clenched and resting on the table surface, he just sat there. It seemed like just the other day he had everything – _everything_ – under control. The school, his studies, his relationship; there wasn't any part of his life he didn't have in hand. But now… In an outburst of his frustrations over the multiplying problems, Draco grabbed an apple off the table and threw it against the wall, causing several people to gasp in shock.

"Draco!" rang Hermione's voice through the silence that had fallen across the hall. "What has gotten into you?" She dropped into the seat next to him despite everyone around them staring. He told her what had happened with Umbridge. Her eyes fell to his chest where his Inquisitorial Badge had been pinned beneath his Prefect Badge; she rested her hand on the now empty spot.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding very sincere. "But maybe that's for the better."

"I don't see how," he snapped in return.

"Well, term is ending soon, and next year we'll be even busier. Plus, there are still good people on the Squad." She glanced behind Draco and he turned to see Theodore, Blaise, Gregory, and Vincent walking over.

"Get back to your own table, Granger," Blaise griped, making an exaggerated nod in the direction of the Gryffindor table. She leaned forward to kiss Draco on the cheek before leaving with a smile. His friends took their seats around him, digging into breakfast without hesitation. "What's wrong?" Blaise asked, noticing Draco's mood. Taking a deep breath, Draco shared his story once more.

"Hagrid was a terrible teacher," Theodore commented, breaking the yolk of his egg and watching it seep out. "But what's curious is the Headmistress using such aggressive measures to remove him without notice." He dragged a triangle of toast through the eggy liquid. "Exiting teachers under questionable cause, oppressing student autonomy through force, implementation by violence; it appears Hogwarts may be on the verge of revolution." With the look of someone who's been slightly inconvenienced, Theodore chomped the bit of toast. The word 'revolution', in this case, was double-sided: in one hand, Umbridge seemed determined to twist Hogwarts inside-out and upside-down, but on the other, the teachers and students would not stand idly by while she tried.

With the grandeur of a small dog who thinks it's much larger than it is, Pansy Parkinson entered the Great Hall. It was clear from the look on her face that she already knew about Draco's meeting with Umbridge. She strutted by them with her chest puffed out so that her badge preceded her. Draco buried his face in his hands, trying to abate his anger as Vincent Crabbe pat his shoulder in friendly consolation.

* * *

Half-way through the History of Magic examination, Draco wished he'd retired from full-time education like Fred and George Weasley. He knew the answers to the questions but for some reason, his brain insisted on being difficult. As he was reading over his bit on the Goblin riots of the eighteenth century, someone let out a blood-curdling scream. Nearly falling off his seat from the sudden interruption, Draco looked around for the culprit. It was Harry. For a moment, Draco's heart stopped beating and all he could think of was his father's letter. But, realizing he was still at Hogwarts, he relaxed, though his concern did not lessen. He exchanged tense glances with Hermione and Ron as Harry was taken from the hall by one of the examiners, presumably to the hospital wing.

After the exam, Draco followed Hermione and Ron out the hall, running for the marble staircase where they found Harry running down toward them.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, elbowing her way through the flood of students in the Entrance Hall. She looked both relieved and frightened as she took him by the arms and studied him. "What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?"

"Why aren't you in the hospital wing?" asked Ron, looking as worried as Hermione.

But Harry ignored their questions. "Come with me," he said quickly. "Come on, I've got to tell you something…" He reached out and grabbed Ron by the arm; his other hand closed around Draco's wrist, and he started walking, pulling them all along. Hermione continued to look Harry over nervously, clutching his robe as they walked. He led them along the corridor until they found an empty classroom. He ushered them all in and closed the door behind him.

"Voldemort's got Sirius," he said, turning to face them.

Hermione and Ron cried, " _What?_ " in unison.

"How do you know?" asked Draco, though he had a feeling he already knew.

"I saw it. Just now. I fell asleep during the exam and –"

"You told us your mind was closed Harry!" Hermione nearly shouted, her voice shrill with anxiety. "You said you didn't need Occlumency lessons anymore!"

"Yeah, well, I lied, and that doesn't matter now because if I had closed my mind, I wouldn't have known that Sirius is in danger!" Harry turned to Ron expectantly; he had saved his father after seeing a similar vision. Ron turned unhelpfully to Draco who could only shrug.

"Maybe we should talk to someone first," suggested Hermione, calming down enough to start thinking logically.

"There isn't anyone to talk to," replied Harry irritably. "They took McGonagall to St Mungo's this morning. Look, Hermione, if we don't go now, Sirius is _dead_."

The stress on Hermione's face increased considerably; she started gnawing on her bottom lip, thinking of what to do. "But Harry, what – what if it's a trap? What if Voldemort is trying to lure you out?"

The words ' _do not leave_ _Hogwarts_ ,' swam into Draco's mind. "Hermione's right," he said, giving her a nod. He told them about his father's letter and warning. "I don't know what exactly is going on but we can't act rashly."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was your family in danger, Malfoy," Harry snapped, biting each word as he said it. His words had been directed to Draco, but it was clear that they affected the others in exactly the same way.

The classroom door opened and the four whipped around. Ginny walked in, looking curious, followed by Luna.

"I thought I recognized your voice, Harry," Ginny said with an uncertain smile.

"I told her it was a Moon Frog calling his fellows," said Luna, looking around the classroom. She brushed past them as if still verifying there wasn't a Moon Frog present.

"So, what are you yelling about?" continued Ginny, closing the door once more.

"Nothing," Ron replied quickly.

"I'm not talking to you, Ronald."

"Never you mind," answered Harry roughly.

Ginny frowned. "We might be able to help," she said.

"No," Harry said firmly.

"You're being rather rude," Luna commented serenely from the other side of the classroom.

"Wait," said Hermione suddenly. She stepped forward and took Ginny by the hand. "Maybe they _can_ help. Look, Harry, we need to establish if Sirius has really been captured."

"I told you, I saw –"

"Harry, please! Let's just check that Sirius isn't home first. To be absolutely sure before we – before we figure out what to do next. _Please_."

Despite his reluctance, Harry agreed. Together, they devised a plan where Harry would sneak into Umbridge's office and use her fire to try and contact Sirius; Hermione would guard Harry in the office; Draco and Ginny would clear the corridor, then stand guard on opposite ends; Ron was in charge of coming up with a distraction to keep the Headmistress occupied and away from her office.

"What should I do?" Luna asked, popping into their circle.

"You can help Ron," Hermione answered quickly, casting Ron a very quick, apologetic glance.

"Oh wonderful," chirped Luna, clearly pleased with her role. "Perhaps we can find a pack of Purple-Tongued Pixies to release in the Great Hall. They'll be difficult to gather though, especially since they're invisible to boys…"

"We'll leave that to you, Luna," Hermione said encouragingly.

The group exited the classroom and split to go about their assigned tasks. Draco ran the stairs with Ginny. Luckily classes were over for the day, and most students would be heading back to their common rooms before supper time.

"How do we clear the stragglers?" Draco asked in a hushed whisper as they peered around the corner. Without a single word of warning, Ginny retrieved a palm-sized wooden barrel and cracked it in half, spilling its contents onto the ground. Draco stared at the small pile of brightly coloured chips lying on the floor and was just about to ask Ginny what the point of them was when she let out an unusual cry – like some sort of monkey scream. The chips started to rumble to life, emitting similar noises as they grew surprisingly large. Before Draco knew it, a dozen full-sized monkeys were racing through the hall, chasing any and all students away. When the hall was clear, Ginny made another call, and the monkeys returned, reverting to a small pile of chips.

"That's how," she said with a satisfied smile, popping the barrel back into her bag.

"I think maybe you should've been in charge of the distraction."

Ginny shrugged. "Ron'll do fine. Now, why don't you run down to the other end while I watch this end."

They took their posts. Moments later, Harry and Hermione rushed by and into Umbridge's office. Patrolling the school and keeping an eye out for trouble was one thing, but standing in one spot, waiting for it to come around a corner or down a set of stairs was a completely different beast. Draco's ears felt over-sensitive to every noise that drifted by, whether it was a far off footfall or the wind rattling a nearby window. But for all his vigilance, he never saw Pansy coming. Mostly because Neville Longbottom quite literally got in the way. In the Gryffindor's attempt to warn Draco about Pansy and the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad approaching, he'd somehow managed to stumble over an invisible obstacle and crash into Draco, and before he knew it, Pansy loomed over them both, glaring down with a smirk Draco would have liked to hex off her face. She immobilized them – which was rather uncomfortable when he was tangled up with Neville – and Draco watched helplessly as Professor Umbridge rushed by them back into her office. Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass followed behind shortly after with one Ronald Weasley and one Luna Lovegood in tow. It looked to Draco from where he lay on the ground that Ron was unconscious, but Luna appeared to be fine. There was a scream from within the office followed by shouting and the sound of things being knocked about. With a dark smirk, Pansy levitated Draco and Neville, moving them into Umbridge's office after the others.

In total, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, and Draco had been apprehended. Their wands were taken from them, and they were lined up on one side of the Headmistress's office, flanked by the Inquisitorial Squad. Vincent and Blaise must have come from the other side of the corridor, because they were there too, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Did you _think_ , after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge?" Umbridge huffed, pacing back and forth. "I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in. Now, with whom have you been communicating?" She stared straight at Harry, her thin lips taut, her eyes dangerously narrow.

"It's none of your business who I talk to," Harry replied with a pride and courageousness Draco found commendable.

"Very well," she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. "Very well, Mr Potter… I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to _force_ you."

"Headmistress, wait!" Draco cried suddenly to everyone's surprise. Slowly, Umbridge wrenched her eyes away from Harry, as if loathed to delay his punishment.

"What is it, Mr Malfoy?" she hissed, the sweetness in her voice gone.

"I've been wrongly detained – I have nothing to do with Potter and whomever he's been talking to. I was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

"Liar!" Pansy shrieked.

"Longbottom didn't know I was dismissed earlier from the Inquisitorial Squad," continued Draco, speaking over Pansy's protest, "and reported a disturbance coming from your office. We were on our way when we accidentally tripped, which is when Pansy found and mistook us as accomplices."

"I did _not_ make a mistake," Pansy argued, anger seething through each word.

But Draco continued to ignore her, looking straight at the Headmistress. "I request that my personal involvement in this incident be reviewed immediately." It was ridiculous, even Draco knew it, but it needed to be ridiculous to hold the Headmistress's attention.

"We will get to you in a moment, Mr Malfoy."

"Call on Professor Snape."

"Whatever for?" asked Umbridge, with suspicion. "I am Headmistress of Hogwarts, as well as High Inquisitor. I will be the one to pass judgement."

"Professor Snape will provide character reference," explained Draco. He pulled himself straight and tilted his chin slightly up so that he looked down at the Headmistress. He couldn't believe what he was about to say, but hopefully, it would have the intended affect. "Or would you like _my father_ to learn I was held accused without opportunity of proper defense?"


	23. Part 23

If Draco's memory served him right, Professor Snape – as Hermione had confided in him – was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a Legilimens. There was a chance he could shed some light on Harry's concern for Sirius, if they could escape their predicament with the Headmistress. That part, Draco hadn't worked out yet.

Shortly after being sent to retrieve the Professor of Potions, Blaise returned, holding the door open as Severus Snape entered the office. His long black robes were a stark contrast to the silky pastel shades of pink covering every square inch of the walls. He barely glanced at the students lining the room as he stood before the Headmistress, his dark stature looming over her; so different was their presence that it looked like Umbridge had been summoned and not the other way around.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?"

She explained the situation, embellishing her story with her personal speculations and suspicions. As she talked, Draco glanced over at the others: Harry was staring at Professor Snape with a desperate intensity. When the Professor didn't turn, Harry cleared his throat pointedly. They locked eyes for a moment, but when Professor Snape looked away, Draco doubted he'd tapped into Harry's mind. His theory was confirmed by Harry's continued look of utter frustration.

"Draco," he said instead, turning to the student of his House. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

It happened quickly: a flicker in the Professor's black eyes, followed by the coldest, most distance stare Draco had ever received from his Head of House; a look of detachment through an expression of calm. And then it clicked. Pushing all pertinent information to the forefront of his mind, Draco took a deep, steady breath before matching Professor Snape's composure.

It was – at least to his knowledge – Draco's first time having his mind read. He likened the experience to being in a room with many drawers and cupboards, and a small table. Everything he wanted the Professor to know was laid neatly on the desk, but he couldn't help but wonder if the Professor hadn't rifled through a few other things without his knowing.

"Well?" Professor Snape prompted Draco, snapping his mind back into reality.

"What the Headmistress has said is technically true…" he replied, trying to sound pressed. "However –"

"I've heard enough," Professor Snape interrupted, turning away from Draco. "Your behaviour as of late, Draco, has been capricious – though youth is often the time for exploration, your choice in company," he stared directly at Hermione at this point, even pausing a moment for effect, "is _lacking_. You will remain here at the discretion of the Headmistress. Perhaps, this will be a learning opportunity for you."

A smug expression of vindication grew across Umbridge's face as she nodded along in agreeance with Professor Snape. As he turned to leave, Draco reached out for the Professor. He turned on Draco, his dark robes swishing about them so that Draco felt he'd been pulled into a dark vortex. "You are wasting my time," the Professor growled irritably. "You will _stay with them_."

After Professor Snape left, Umbridge seemed eager to make up for lost time. "Now where were we?" she simpered, twirling her wand in the air, causing pink and purple sparks to pop out like glitter. With a flick, she levelled the tip between Harry's eyes. "I think the Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue, hm?"

The already quiet room grew numbingly silent as the Headmistress's thin lips stretched into a horrible smile. She opened her mouth; " _Cruc–_ "

"NO!" shouted Hermione so loudly, nearly everyone jumped. Millicent moved to restrain her, and she struggled against the larger Slytherin. "Those curses are illegal," Hermione said, her voice cracking from the strain of being forced back.

"Cornelius will understand," Umbridge replied simply. She gave Hermione a half smile – as if to say, 'nice try' – before turning back to Harry.

"Fine then, I'll tell you," continued Hermione, an edge of desperation in her voice.

"Hermione, no!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, I won't let her hurt you! It's not worth it." Her voice, her words, they all said, ' _let's give up_ ' but her eyes said, ' _trust me_ '. "We were trying to communicate with Professor Dumbledore," Hermione lied. "But we can't find him: We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, and the Three Broomsticks; we were trying Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop just now…"

The triumphant look on Umbridge's saggy face melted into disappointment. "You idiotic girl!" she shouted, eyes bulging in anger. "Dumbledore won't be sitting about some shop having tea while the whole Ministry is searching for him!"

"But it's always best to hide in plain sight," defended Hermione weakly. "And we're desperate," she added, her tone rising in pitch. "The weapon –" Hermione clapped her hand over her own mouth, eyes wide as if she'd just said something she shouldn't have. Drinking in every syllable, Umbridge wrenched Hermione's hand down, her wand now touching the girl's cheek.

"Weapon?" she repeated. "What weapon?"

Hermione shook her head fearfully. Quicker than anyone was prepared for, Umbridge slashed her wand across Hermione's face, leaving a painfully red, linear welt on her cheek.

"HERMIONE!" Draco shouted, moving forward reflexively. But a hand stopped him; it was Blaise, but he wasn't holding him back so much as telling him to wait. Hermione had a plan.

"Pr-Professor Dumbledore ordered us to create a secret weapon," Hermione blurted out quickly, her eyes shimmering with tears as she nursed the blow to her cheek. "Now that it's done, we're not sure what to do with it."

"Show me," Umbridge demanded. Her fingers wrapped around Hermione's wrist. "Take me to the weapon now."

"I won't show them," she cried, pointing at Pansy and the Inquisitorial Squad. For a moment her eyes met Draco's and they softened, as if apologizing. "They're associated with Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I won't take that risk."

Umbridge inhaled sharply. "Listen here: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has _not_ returned. Potter is a _liar_ and Dumbledore is a _lunatic_ who is trying to take the office of Minister for Magic for himself."

For a moment, Hermione's usual confidence returned to her and she said, "If you're so sure, bring them along if you like." Then, sounding more like a scared child, she added, "You _will_ protect us if they try and steal it, won't you, Headmistress?"

All eyes were on Umbridge as she considered Hermione's words and weighed her options. She put on an exaggerated smile. "All right, dear," she said in what she probably thought was a motherly voice. "If you're scared, let's just make it you and me – and we'll take Potter too, shall we?" She turned to Pansy. "Remain here until I return and make sure none of these," she gestured at the captive students, "escape."

* * *

As soon as Umbridge disappeared with Hermione and Harry, Pansy shouted, " _Stupefy_ ," casting the spell at Draco first. But Blaise was ready:

" _Protego_ ," he roared, pushing Draco behind him.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," countered Vincent, but Pansy dodged and the spell caused a stack of papers on the Professor's table to scatter about the room. Luna dove at Daphne, who held their wands, and wrestled her to the ground, but Millicent grabbed the smaller Ravenclaw by the back of her robes and pulled her off. She tossed Luna against the wall like a doll, and several of the Headmistress's ornamental plates fell, shattering. She dropped to the ground with a groan.

"Stupefy," said Neville loudly, standing right behind Millicent. She turned just in time to see Neville grin before bringing a large book down on her head. With her attention on Neville, Blaise sent an actual Stunning Spell at Millicent, knocking her out. As her friend went down, Daphne pushed herself to her feet and tried to jinx Neville, but he blocked with the book and ran for cover.

"I need a wand," Draco said from behind Blaise, watching as Daphne attempted to revive Millicent.

Vincent whipped around on Daphne. " _Accio wands_." With a shriek, the captive wands – as well as her own – flew out of Daphne's hands toward Vincent.

" _Immobulus_ ," Pansy cried, running out from behind the desk. The wands froze mid-air, suspended by Pansy's spell. She brought her wand down over Vincent, who had been expecting to catch the wands but instead caught a hex. He was struck by Pansy's Stinging Spell, and toppled over from the pain of the sudden swelling.

" _Accio wa–_ "

" _Flipendo!_ " shouted Pansy, casting her spell quicker than Blaise. The jinx knocked Blaise and Draco back, both of them slamming against the wall behind. Draco was instantly winded, but recovered quickly enough to push himself and Blaise out of the way as Pansy let loose a bright spark at them. Her wand followed their path, and just as Draco heard her take a breath for her next spell, someone yelled, " _Bombarda!_ " resulting in a small explosion in the middle of the office. Pansy was thrown from where she stood, hitting the Headmistress's file drawers before falling limply to the ground.

Ginny Weasley stepped over the threshold of the office, wand before her. She quickly found Daphne Greengrass, hovering over Millicent, and turned her legs to jelly. She added a silencing spell when Daphne wouldn't stop screaming and cursing her for it.

"You alright?" Draco asked Blaise as they brushed bits of what used to be the Headmistress's collection of limited edition Calico Kitten plates off themselves. He looked up at Ginny who had just summoned all present wands to her.

"You said you needed a wand?" she asked with a smirk.

After Pansy, Millicent, and Daphne (who, after everything, Ginny decided was better off stunned like her friends) were secured, Ginny revived her brother and Luna while Blaise tended to Vincent. Once awake, Ron was told everything that had transpired while he was unconscious, Ginny listening closely as she was partially absent as well.

"Zabini and Crabbe came around my way," she explained when asked what had happened with her. "They told me to get out of there but didn't say more, so I hid for a bit, waiting to see what would happen."

"To be fair," Blaise remarked, helping Vincent sit up, "we didn't know what was going to happen. You could've showed up sooner though, to lend a hand."

Ginny frowned at this. "I wasn't sure if I should stay and help or follow Harry and Hermione." She glanced at Draco, her expression changing to concern. "We should go after them."

"Go," Blaise said with a nod when Draco looked at him. "We'll take care of things here."

"Not much to take care of anymore," muttered Ginny.

" _Someone_ has to try and repair some of the damage you caused with your Bomb Spell," he snapped irritably. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Do we even know where Hermione led them?" Draco asked. Everyone exchanged glances, but no one seemed to know.

"Into the Forbidden Forest," a new voice answered. Leaning in the doorway was Theodore, observing the state of the Headmistress's office with amusement.

"You're late, Nott," Blaise chided, casting his housemate a look of disdain mixed with humour.

"As I told you earlier, I have no intention of getting involved."

"But you're telling us where they went," Vincent pointed out.

Theodore shrugged. "Merely passing on an observation." And with that, he turned his back on the office. Draco glanced about once more before racing out. "Good luck," he heard Theodore say to him as he ran by.

* * *

Half-way down the stairs, Draco heard footsteps behind him. He took a moment to look back and found he was being followed: Ron, he'd expected, but not the others.

"Go back!" he shouted at them.

"Yeah, go back!" echoed Ron, waving his long arms in a comical manner.

"Absolutely not!" Ginny returned angrily. "You obviously need our help."

"Yes: How else will you find the Purple-Tongued Pixies?" added Luna.

The group rushed past students making their way into the Great Hall for dinner. Draco and Ron threw open the castle doors and ran out onto the lawn. Neville let out a cry as he slipped on the dewy grass.

"Look, if you want to help, take Luna and Longbottom to the hospital wing," instructed Draco, stopping momentarily. All three protested at once:

"I don't need to go to the infirmary," said Neville, brushing blades of grass off his robes.

"Ron's the one who was unconscious," argued Ginny, glaring at her older brother.

"Nothing a little moonlight won't fix," sighed Luna.

Ron stamped his foot on the ground and flicked his wand to the side, emitting several sparks and a loud snapping sound. "We don't have time for this," he shouted over the others. "Now, I'm a Prefect and I'm ordering you three to get back in the castle and _stay there_." When Ginny and Neville stared back at him defiantly, he added, "Don't make me deduct House points."

"My House is rather safe from that, isn't it," commented Luna as she skipped past both Ron and Draco. The two boys exchanged incredulous glances before taking off after her, Neville and Ginny right behind them.

They were nearing the forest edge when they heard rustling from within. Each held their wand at the ready, but the only ones to appear were Hermione and Harry. Draco was the first to run forward, catching Hermione in a hug. He brushed a hand through her hair (which had caught a lot of twigs and leaves) and kissed the top of her head.

"My, that's a lot of blood." Luna's voice drifted by Draco, barely registering, but when it did, he held Hermione out at arm's length and in the darkening sky, observed her. Indeed, both she and Harry were covered in quite a bit of blood.

"What happened?" Neville asked, conjuring some bandages to wrap their wounds. "And where's Umbridge?"

"The Centaurs took her," Harry said grimly, accepting Neville's first aid. On both Harry and Hermione's forearm were long, identical gashes. "And they didn't let us go unscathed." He looked at Hermione with apologetic eyes. "Hermione," he began. "I'm sorr–"

"It's fine, Harry," she said quickly as Draco cast the same healing spell on her cut. "It's my fault; I led us there."

"What happened?" Ron repeated, looking between his two best friends for more detail. With a sigh, Hermione shared their story:

"I led Umbridge into the Forest hoping we could lose her if we ran when it got really thick. But the Centaurs found us first. Umbridge lost it – she hates half-breeds – even though Centaurs are their own creatures and aren't half-human in any way; it's a common misconception, especially –"

"Skip the educational bits, will you," interrupted Ron.

"Oh, right. She fired off some spells which was a huge mistake; the Centaurs got really angry and carried her off screaming."

"So: they did this to you?" Ron gestured to their arms.

"They were _really_ angry," Hermione repeated. "They blamed us for bringing her into the forest. They said we were trespassing on their territory. They were debating whether or not to carry us off too, but one of them argued that they couldn't meddle with what the stars had foretold, something about Harry being 'The Child of Prophecy'." Everyone looked at Harry; he stared back at them darkly. "So they let us go," Hermione continued. "But not without marking us enemies first." She shivered at the memory, and Harry took this as his cue to finish their story.

"They said they couldn't interfere with 'things to come', but they also wouldn't stand Wizards trespassing their borders as we pleased. In exchange for letting us return, we had to spill our blood on the forest floor – a symbol of conflict; that way, all creatures of the Forest would know that we are no longer welcome."

Silence fell across the group as the sky darkened completely, the last of the sun's light disappearing behind the canopy of the trees.

"What now?" Neville asked in a quiet voice.

Harry's eyes fell to Ron, Hermione, and Draco in turn. "I know what I need to do," he said firmly.

"What about Professor Snape?" Draco suggested. "I'm sure he read my mind and gathered all the necessary information about Black and the Department of Mysteries. We should check with him first."

"We haven't got time," shouted Harry. "If he had anything to say, he would've told us by now. Besides, Snape hates Sirius. He probably wants him to die. Probably thinks he deserves it."

Hermione gave Harry a terrifying look. "Don't say that, Harry! They might not get a long, but surely Professor Snape –"

"Harry's right," Ron said calmly. "We haven't got time. We should trust him. I do."

"Me too," Ginny added with a nod.

Luna smiled wistfully. "I think a trip to London would be lovely."

Harry opened his mouth – possibly to argue, but Ron put a hand on his arm to stop him. "We haven't got time," he reminded his friend. "How are we going to get there?"

A soft humming made everyone turn: Luna had wandered off into the edges of the forest, holding out her hand like a wood nymph going for a stroll.

"She's a nice girl, but she's a broom more than a few straws short," said Ron, shaking his head. But Harry kept staring at Luna, as did Neville.

"Of course," Neville exhaled, though he looked a little more startled than the other two.

"Thestrals," Harry said. "Luna you're a genius!"

"Oh, they're not here because of me, silly. You and Hermione are the ones who're bleeding."

The others couldn't see the Thestrals, of course, so while Luna, Harry, and Neville went frolicking about with these invisible creatures, Draco stood back with Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, exchanging dubious looks.

"Hagrid did say they're really good at finding locations," Hermione noted, thoughtfully. "But how are we to ride something we can't see?"

Luna removed her robe and threw it over the air next to her; to Draco's surprise, it hung suspended several feet above the ground. "Ladies first," Luna said with a smile.


	24. Part 24

Riding a Thestral was still terrifying, despite the robe cast across its back to show that there was, in fact, _something_ there. Draco and Hermione were the only ones to share a Thestral for their journey, Harry helping them onto a particularly large one he thought could hold the weight of two. With a little magic, Hermione ensured everyone had a pocket of warm, oxygen rich air surrounding them before take-off. This ensured no one would freeze or suffocate to death when they reached higher altitudes. (She had referenced something about aero-planes, but Draco had no idea what she meant.) They flew for quite a while, giving Draco plenty of time to reflect on what they could possibly be heading into. His father had told him to stay at school while Professor Snape had told him to stay with his friends; he didn't know what either man really meant, and now it was too late to ask.

He glanced down at Hermione who sat in front, leaning into him, his arms wrapped tightly around her as they held onto the makeshift harness. It did little to control the Thestral and was more for keeping them from falling off its back. Her eyes were wide and lost in thought, presumably drifting along the same waves of Draco's concerns.

"This," she said, barely audible despite the spell she'd cast to cancel out the noise of flying. "This is worse than a test."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Draco laughed. "Yeah," he agreed, squeezing her a bit tighter. "And we haven't even studied for this," he added.

Hermione turned so that she could see Draco. "What if your father –"

Draco pressed a finger to her lips and silenced her with a kiss. "Let's not talk about my father," he suggested, his lips still brushing hers as he smirked. He felt Hermione relax a moment, but then she pushed back.

"But…"

Draco sighed. Some things would never change with Hermione, and he smiled to himself thinking how many more moments in the future she would ruin for them: Would she make some sort of intellectual remark in the middle of his proposal? Would she have something to say before they kissed at the altar? How many more moments over how many more years would they have together for her to ruin?

Rather precariously, Hermione turned around so that she sat backwards on the Thestral and faced Draco. She pushed her long brown hair behind her as she fixed him with a set expression. "But your father might be there," she continued. Her voice grew quiet again, and her expression turned as gentle as when she spoke next. "He's a Death Eater. He told you to stay at Hogwarts. If he's there, at the Ministry, we might have to fight him."

"And maybe, because I'm there, we won't have to," Draco reasoned, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. But she looked skeptical, and more importantly, scared. He took her face in his hand and held her gaze. "I meant what I said last year, about standing by you. If it comes down to it, I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."

"But – But you'd be giving everything up!" Hermione exclaimed, looking more upset. "You'll be going against your father – turning your back on your family; you'll be a disgrace to all blood purists."

"I thought you didn't care about those things?"

"I care about you! You'll be a blood traitor – a target for the Death Eaters."

"As will you," Draco pointed out. "Well, not the blood traitor part, ' _questionable_ ' lineage and all. Actually, you'd be surprised how many of the Dark Lord's followers aren't even pure-blood; it's a difficult thing to prove after all. Take Theo for example: his –"

"Draco," Hermione interrupted. "I'm being serious here."

"I know that," he replied with a smile.

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "How can you joke at a time like this? We're flying into goodness knows what danger – a trap, maybe, and we don't even know if we'll find Sirius there. Plus, it's bad enough that we're here, but Ginny and Luna and Neville too…"

Their Thestral beat its wings a few times, gaining some altitude; it soared above the others and a little off to the side. As their ride leveled out, flying straight and steady, Draco took both hands off the harness and placed them on Hermione's back. "Whatever happens there, I promise you'll be fine," he said.

"What about Harry and the others?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Them too."

She shook her head. "How can you promise that?"

He reached into his pocket and withdrew three golden Galleons; they shimmered in the moonlight as he pressed them into Hermione's palm. "I just can," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Just promise me, if something happens, you'll give these to Dobby."

Hermione immediately tore away from him. "What's this about Dobby?" she demanded. But once more, Draco silenced her by pressing her lips shut with his finger. He stared at her, illuminated by the moonlight, and while he still couldn't say for sure that he loved her, there was one thing he knew: If they were flying to their last night together – whatever that meant – he wasn't going to spend it arguing.

With one hand on her back and the other gently grasping her neck, he pulled Hermione into him; eyes closed, his lips found hers; her body tensed a moment, then relaxed into his. Their lips parted gently as they kissed, and Draco's hand found the skin of the small of Hermione's back. She inched forward so that there was no more space between them; her hands clutching his shoulders, on his neck, in his hair. Their oxygen-supplying pocket couldn't keep up with their rapid breaths, and they certainly didn't need its magic to keep them warm.

Had the setting been different, they might have carried on all night, but a slight buck from their invisible steed brought them back to their mission. In the blackness below them, they could see dots of light, and not too far in the distance, the lights grew into a bright, slightly orange-coloured ocean. Hermione kissed him one more time, her mouth open to his, before turning back around to face forward. Draco's arms reached around her once more as, together, they wrapped their hands in the harness. Their Thestral rejoined the others as they descended, a slow cyclone of seven students, riding on robes cast over invisible creatures, into the glimmering lights of London.

* * *

"Okay, is everyone in?" Harry looked to Ron, who was the tallest and could just see over everyone's heads. After landing on a nondescript street in London, Harry had ordered everyone to pile into a dirty, vandalized telephone box that smelled like something Draco didn't want to think about. When Ron nodded, Harry said, "Whoever's closest to the door, shut it. And then whoever's closest to the receiver, dial six, two, four, four, two."

That was Luna, and she picked up the receiver, reciting the numbers in a sing-song voice as she dialed. As the dial whirred back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the box. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Oh hello," Luna said very pleasantly. "Well, let's see now: We have Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, I'm Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, and Ronald Weasley." She turned around though just barely as it was very crowded. "What is our business?" she asked.

"We're here to save someone!" answered Harry.

"I'm afraid that information is insufficient. Please state the name of the person you are here to save," said the cool female voice.

"Oh this is bollocks!" cried Ginny, who was pressed uncomfortably against the glass. "We're here to see Arthur Weasley – Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office! We're his children!"

"And friends," Luna added, still speaking into the receiver.

The telephone box grew quiet as they waited. Finally, the cool female voice said, "Thank you." A slot opened and seven badges slid out a metal chute. "Please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes." Luna grabbed the badges and passed them out slowly. Each had their full name and underneath it read: "Friend of Arthur Weasley", except for Ron and Ginny's which read: "Child of Arthur Weasley".

The floor of the telephone booth shuddered, and with a dull grinding noise, they began their descent down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

As the telephone box lowered into the Atrium, the group was both surprised and relieved to find it empty. They stepped out of the cramped box into the vast room, dimly lit by golden light; to either side were large mantelpieces set into the walls, but no fires burned in them. It certainly wasn't Draco's first time at the Ministry of Magic, but he had never seen it at this time of day, and its emptiness added to his feeling of foreboding. They followed Harry past the large golden fountain decorating the Atrium: a group of golden statues, larger than life-size, standing in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking Wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful Witch, a Centaur, a Goblin, and a House-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the Witch and Wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from all over the statue, flowing still, even after hours.

"This way," Harry said, motioning them toward a desk. He frowned when he saw that it was empty and Draco knew exactly why: normally, a security Wizard was there and checked the wands of visitors.

"Here!" Neville said suddenly. They came around the desk to find a man lying on the ground; he eyes were open and his face was slack. The Gryffindor boy knelt beside the man and looked up sadly at the others. "He's dead."

Impossibly, the situation became more real. Harry looked at every single one of them. "It's not too late to turn back," he said. "I'll understand and no one will be upset."

Silently, Luna stepped toward him and took his hand. For once, the Ravenclaw's expression was grounded, her eyes shimmering with a seriousness Draco had not seen before. One by one, the group stepped forward, placing their hand over theirs.

"We're here," Ron said with a very brave look. He clapped his other hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Now let's go save Sirius."

* * *

After a run down a corridor, a trip on a lift, and a run down another corridor, they finally found themselves before the Department of Mysteries. Or so Harry said. None of them had been there before, and Harry had only seen it in his visions. The door itself was very normal-looking.

"It's locked," Harry said stupidly, trying the handle.

"Of course it's locked," chided Ginny, pushing him aside. "We're in the Ministry of Magic, they don't just leave doors to their most secret departments unlocked for anyone to get into." She pointed her wand to the handle and said, " _Alohamora_." But when she tried the handle after, it was still locked.

"Harry," Hermione said, her eyes brightening. "What about Sirius's knife?"

The dark-haired boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a penknife. He shimmied the blade between the door and the frame; there was a click, and the door swung open an inch. Pocketing the knife, Harry took up his wand and turned to the others. "Let's go."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Just so there's no misunderstanding: Hermione and Draco did not have sex while riding on the back of the Thestral on the way to London.**


	25. Part 25

The Department of Mysteries certainly lived up to its name: They passed by many rooms, some closed off with locked doors or gates or even a hanging curtain; others were open, its contents visible to the curious passersby.

"Ugh," said Ron as they peered into one room: an enormous glass tank filled with deep-green water stood in the middle. It was the only thing in the room, however, inside the tank were a number of pearly white objects, drifting around lazily in the liquid. "I'm _sure_ those are brains," he commented, turning about and continuing down the hall.

"What do you think they're doing with brains?" Luna asked peering back as she followed the others.

"I don't want to know," replied Ron, making a face.

"Are you sure, Brother? I rather think you could use one," snickered Ginny. Draco couldn't help but smile at the jab.

"Shut it, Ginny," Ron snapped, glaring at his younger sister. "You shouldn't even be here."

Harry turned sharply on the two Weasleys and shushed them. They both looked at him apologetically and continued on in silence. They followed the hall until it led to a door, and upon seeing it, Harry twitched. He approached the door and placed his hand on the ornate knob; he turned it and, to everyone's surprise, the door opened. The room behind the door was enormous – much larger than all the other rooms and even the hallway leading up to it. In it were rows upon rows of high shelves, and sitting on those shelves were small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from candle brackets burning with blue flames, set at intervals along the shelves. "Row ninety-seven," breathed Harry. His unfocused eyes suggested he was calling on the memory of his vision.

"Is that where Black is?" Draco asked for clarification. "Is that where you saw him being held?" Despite his question, Draco didn't think Sirius was here at all. The room was quiet – too quiet, and why would the Dark Lord even keep him in a place like this. No, there was something more to their being there… Everyone split up, but not so far that they couldn't see each other, and begun looking at the orbs and the shelves upon which they sat. Draco noted that under each orb was a label with some information written on it: dates, some letters – initials, perhaps – and then names.

"This way," Neville said, pointing further in. Silently, the group moved forward, noting the increasing numbers on the shelves. It was apparent now that some of the orbs were glowing themselves rather than reflecting the pale blue light of the candles.

"Here," said Ginny. "Row ninety-seven." She peered down the way but saw nothing. "Are you sure?" she asked Harry quietly. Without answering, he charged past her.

"Something's wrong," Draco muttered as Harry marched down row ninety-seven. Other than themselves, there was no sign of anyone, not even a struggle if Sirius had been there against his will and then moved. He raised his wand defensively and looked around them into the dark of the room.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said, his voice strangely muffled. "This has your name on it."

Harry quickly made his way back to where Ron was, just a short way into row ninety-seven. Everyone looked where Ron was pointing: beneath a dusty orb, on a yellowing label was written: ' _S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D_ ', and on the line after, ' _Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter_ '. He reached forward to pick up the orb, but Hermione said, "I don't think you should touch it."

"Why not?" Harry returned. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?"

"Hermione's right," agreed Neville, looking worried. "I don't think it's a good idea. We don't even know what it is."

But Harry was adamant. "It's got my name on it," he said. His fingers closed around the glass ball. Nothing happened.

"Very good, Potter," a drawling voice suddenly said, from somewhere behind them. "Now, would you like me to tell you what it is?"

Draco's heart stopped beating. Without seeing the face, he knew that voice: it was his father, Lucius Malfoy, and he doubted very much that he would be alone. "Wands," he hissed to the others. Black shapes emerged out of thin air all around them, blocking their way left and right. In the light of their lit wands, eyes glinted through slits in masks which were then shadowed by black hoods. Draco noticed that one of the Death Eaters faltered as they closed in on the small group of students, and staring into those slits, Draco recognized the cold gray-eyes of his father. Even with his face obscured by a mask, Draco could tell his father was displeased to see him there.

"Where is Sirius?" Harry demanded.

Several of the Death Eaters laughed. A woman's voice from the midst of the shadowy figures mimicked him, " _Where is Sirius?_ " she echoed, her voice intentionally high and pathetic. The voice sent shivers down Draco's spine; it had been a long while since he'd been in the company of his Aunt Bellatrix, but he could never forget her – even if he wanted to. He reflexively glanced in Neville's direction; the other boy was staring with frightened, wide eyes, but he had no idea who was behind that mask – and, if Draco could help it, he would keep his Aunt from finding out who Neville was. "The Dark Lord _always_ knows," she continued mocking Harry, her tone deepening. She walked a few more steps forward, bringing herself to her full height, and while she stood shorter than the Hogwarts boys present, she was no less intimidating. Bellatrix paused a moment when she noticed her nephew. "Draco?" she said, her voice changing once more. From Draco, she looked back at the Death Eaters. "Lucius, it's Draco. Why is Draco here?" From behind his mask, Draco could have sworn he heard his father groan. "Never you mind," Bellatrix carried on, without waiting for an explanation. "Draco, get us the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Harry repeated. His grasp on the glass orb tightened. "What prophecy?"

Bellatrix threw back her hood and removed her mask: Azkaban had hollowed her out, but despite this, there was still an arrogant and dark beauty to her; unwittingly Draco was reminded of his mother. "Do not ask questions about things you do not know or understand," she said to Harry, taking another step forward. "Now, hand it over, boy."

"Where is Sirius?" Harry demanded once again.

Growing impatient, Bellatrix raised her wand and Draco stepped in front of Harry. "A trade," he said quickly, looking at his father. "The prophecy for Sirius Black." He could hear Harry take a breath behind him – probably to argue, but Draco grabbed his arm and squeezed it hard, willing him to be quiet. Arguing would not help them.

"Draco," his father said, his voice cold and calculating. "You are not in a position to negotiate. However, no one need get hurt – if you just _hand over the prophecy_."

Draco looked back at his companions: Neville's eyes were wider than before and fixed on Bellatrix; Ginny seemed to be sizing-up each Death Eater in turn, her wand held at the ready; Ron looked nervous, Hermione anxious, Harry angry; Luna was… With her back half-turned, Luna was staring at the shelf, apparently more interested in the glass orbs than the threat before them. "Potter, you may not trust me, but you must understand I mean no harm to my own son."

"That doesn't exactly bode well for the rest of us," Ginny retorted. The eyes of Lucius Malfoy grew colder still as he regarded the red-haired daughter of a man he greatly disliked. Ginny's eyes reflected the same sentiment of mutual distaste.

"Apparently I must spell things out for you," Lucius disparaged. He too removed his hood and mask, and faced the children as himself. "Our mission is to retrieve the prophecy – at whatever means necessary. As I've mentioned, I have no intention of bringing harm to my son, and –" he added, regarding Draco with as much disdain as he had for the others, "bringing harm to any of you would likely result in him doing something _stupid_." He turned back to Harry and held out his hand. "Now, Potter: _give me the prophecy_."

"Let the others go first," said Harry. "Then we'll talk."

The slightest twitch of his father's lips alerted Draco to the danger of Harry remaining behind, by himself. "Very well, Pot –"

"No," Draco interrupted loudly. He understood that, without his being there, the Death Eaters would hold no reason to show restraint, and that they were likely looking forward to prying the prophecy from Harry's cold, dead hand. Looking from his friend to his father, Draco knew he'd crossed a line. The condescension Lucius bore in his expression changed to anger. If they were at home, Draco would have already been punished for disobedience. The moment for the hammer to fall was upon them, and Draco could feel the tension rise to a breaking point.

"Ha," Luna sung softly, off to the side. She'd managed to levitate a particularly large prophecy off its place among the others; it floated before her, its ghostly light illuminating her delicate features. " _Oppugno_ ," she then said, flicking her wand in the direction of one of the Death Eaters. The orb zoomed into the Death Eater, striking him on the head; glittering shards of glass fell into his face and down his robes onto the ground as he stepped back in shock. The wispy form of an elderly man floated up, followed by words as translucent as the image – but no one could make out what the old seer said in that particular prophecy, as the Death Eater whom the orb had collided with let out a deafening scream.

"Nott!" another Death Eater cried as his fellow collapsed to the ground. He knelt beside him but seemed reluctant to touch him. Bellatrix's wand went up and sent a curse flying at Luna, but Lucius deflected it. "Wait!" he screamed at his sister-in-law. Several prophecies on the shelf above them exploded from the impact of the spell, raining glass and debris onto the group below. Draco had half a second to look right at Hermione before he yelled, "Run!" His hand was still on Harry's arm, and he tugged him to the side before shouting, " _Reducto_ ," pointing at the bottom half of a shelf. Throwing his other arm around Luna's shoulders, he started to run.

" _Stupefy!_ " one of the Death Eaters shouted. Draco ducked instinctively.

" _Fumos!_ " Hermione screamed from somewhere behind. Draco glanced back and watched as a cloud of smoke swallowed everything; it billowed through each row and expanded up into the high ceiling. Before it consumed them as well, Draco saw Hermione grab hold of Ginny's hand; Ron and Neville were running behind the girls, Ron casting Reductor spells behind him, aiming for the shelves as he ran.

"Straight ahead," cried Harry, who had broken free of Draco's hold and ran ahead of everyone else. He pointed the group forward to a door. A Death Eater suddenly appeared through the smoke before them, wand drawn.

" _Accio Pro –_ "

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Harry shouted first, and the Death Eater's wand flew out of his hand, disappearing into the fog.

" _Ventus_ ," Hermione said next.

The Death Eater was swept off his feet by a strong gust of wind and thrown back into a shelf. She ran before them, hand-in-hand with Ginny and threw open the door, disappearing inside. Next was Ron and Neville. "Hurry!" urged Harry, beckoning to Luna and Draco, who brought up the rear. His expression changed and again, Draco ducked reflexively, grabbing Luna and dragging her down as Harry pointed his wand and cried, " _Protego_ ". A curse rebounded off the shield and exploded just above Draco and Luna, causing a shower of broken glass and Prophecy Records to fall over them. Draco cast a similar shield upward, protecting them from the wreckage.

"Come on," he said to Luna, pulling her to her feet. Harry was in the doorway, speaking to the others; Draco looked up just in time to see a light fast-approaching. He didn't know what it was, but he grabbed Luna, spun around, and pushed her into Harry and through the doorway. The spell caught him in the back, and he fell forward onto the ground, his hands cut by all the shards of broken glass that lay scattered across it. He reached forward to close the door, but he was too far. He watched, helpless as he heard his Aunt cast an explosive curse through the open doorway, followed by the cries of his friends. But before she could reach it, someone from the other side, pulled the door closed. He heard her footsteps as she raced by and wrenched the door open.

"What? Where are they?" she screamed, her voice high and hysterical. Draco wanted to look, but dark spots started blotting his vision as a mind-numbing pain spread throughout his body, making it impossible to move. He thought he heard Bellatrix kick the door closed again before hexing something that made a lot of noise as it presumably broke into a million pieces. She was still screaming when Draco heard other footsteps approach. He felt the wind of someone sweeping down over him, and the low hum of his father's voice. A moment after, the pain and the darkness left him, and he was being pulled up into a sitting position.

His father had nothing to say to him as he quickly mended his wounds, and when he was done, he got to his feet to address the others. "They are still here," he said in a level tone. "Crabbe, Bellatrix: take the main entrance. Dolohov: Search the other rooms. Macnair: get Nott somewhere safe and then keep watch in the corridor. These rooms are all connected and there is only one way out."

"What about you, Malfoy?" Crabbe asked, glancing at Draco with a peculiar expression.

"I will assist Dolohov in searching the rooms _after_ I have taught my son a lesson."


	26. Part 26

The other Death Eaters filed out, leaving Draco alone with his father. He wasn't surprised when the first thing his father did was lift his wand and whip it to the side; the resulting spell was like a slap to the face – a spell Draco was used to, having been subject to it since he was a child. In fact, he was pretty sure his father had invented it just for him. The slap itself did not hurt very much, but it was not meant to inflict pain – at least, not physical pain.

"Why didn't you just _listen_ to me?" Lucius seethed, pacing back and forth before his son. "Do you think this a game, Draco?"

"Of course not," snapped Draco in reply. "Dad, I was just doing what I thought –"

"What you _thought_?" Lucius interrupted, turning on his son so that they stood very close. "What you _think_? You are a _child_ , Draco. You are not _capable_ of thinking in the capacity which these situations demand."

"I am _not_ a child," argued Draco. "Not anymore."

"This is not school, son. This is not some group of honour students you're leading to keep other students in line under the controls of Hogwarts. This is life – and war."

Despite believing in himself and his words, Draco could feel his ears and face getting hot the way they always did when he was being scolded by his father. "I understand that," Draco said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Do you," his father returned coldly. He flipped his wand masterfully and ropes appeared from thin air, and would have bound Draco where he stood, had he not dodged. "My son, evading, like some paltry Muggle," commented Lucius, his voice thick with disgust. "Can you not even utter a spell of defense?" He moved his wand again, and this time, Draco deflected with a wordless counter. His father raised an eyebrow. "Now that's better."

Draco stepped back, putting some distance between them. The ground beneath his feet was littered with the rubble of broken prophecies and ruined shelves, but he dared not look away from his father. "We shouldn't be fighting," he said as he faced his father for an inevitable duel.

"Of course not," his father agreed. "But this is not my doing, Draco. Lay down your wand."

"I can't do that."

For a moment, his father's hardened demeanor softened and his gray-eyes glimmered with both sadness and pride. "I know," he said with a slight nod. "But neither can I."

Father and son both bowed to the other before raising their wands. Immediately, Lucius flung his robe about him to obscure his position, but before either Malfoy could cast their first spell, the door – which Draco's friends had mysteriously disappeared through – opened, and out of it fell Neville and Luna. And by fall, it was like they'd been dropped through the door, as if it were a hole in the ground rather than a door on the side of a wall. They crashed into Draco's father and the three of them rolled down an aisle until they were stopped by a splintered shelf.

"So sorry, sir," Luna apologized, as she attempted to untangle herself from Lucius and Neville. She had a large bruise on her cheek, which was swollen and made her look like a chipmunk with a full mouth. Neville carried a bad cut down one side of his face; it was bleeding, and his eye was squeezed shut.

"Get off of me!" Lucius shouted, struggling against the weight pinning him down. Draco had run over but wasn't sure how to react: part of him wanted to laugh, but another part knew he had no time. Pointing his wand at his father, he said, "Sorry Dad," before using the same spell he (Lucius) had tried earlier: ropes appeared from thin air and bound Lucius where he lay. Draco stooped over and took his father's wand from his hand. "I'll come back for you after I make sure the others are safe," he promised. He then turned to Luna and Neville. "Where did you two come from?" he asked. He helped Neville sit up properly and began to examine his injury; thankfully, the cut was not deep, and it didn't appear to have actually damaged his eye.

"This place is amusing," said Luna, a dreamy smile stretched across her puffed-up face.

"No, it's not," Neville disagreed, but didn't say more as Draco worked on healing his cut.

Luna continued: "After you pushed me and Harry through the door, there was an explosion – I was knocked out for, oh I'd say a while; when I came to, everyone was yelling. Hermione was mad that Harry had closed the door without you, but the door had disappeared so she couldn't get back."

Draco's chest constricted thinking about Hermione. He was worried about her: Where was she? What was she facing? Who was she with? How could he get to her?

"We were in this great big room with all these clocks and hour-glasses," Luna carried on. "It was quite a lovely place. Hermione made sure we didn't touch anything, but Ginny found a door – it hadn't been there before and she opened it, and got pulled out of the room. Ron went right after her, and then the door closed. When we opened it again, it led into a dark room with no lights, and not even our wands would show us anything. We called for Ginny and Ron, but it seemed even our voices were lost in the dark." For the first time, since their departure from Hogwarts, Luna's eyes reflected fear and uncertainty. Draco had to gently prompt her to continue the story. "We decided to go in anyway, so Harry, Hermione, Neville, and I held hands and walked in."

When Luna fell silent again, and Draco was about to push her to keep going, Neville spoke instead – perhaps to relieve Luna, or perhaps because he felt the need to.

"We started falling. Something hit me in the face – hard – which is how I got this cut, and I… I let go of Hermione's hand – I didn't mean to but… And then we fell through the door and ended up here."

Draco stared between Luna and Neville as he processed their tale. So much had happened in apparently so little time. And now their group was split; he had no idea where any of the others were or what condition they might be in. He had no way to them and didn't even know where to start searching.

"Draco," his father said, his tone clear and firm. "You need to unbind me." No words came to mind in response to this ridiculous request, so Draco and his friends simply stared at his father. "None of you were meant to be here. Unbind me and I will lead you to the entrance."

"And then what?"

"And then you leave and return to Hogwarts – where you will be safe."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Safe? For how long, father? What is this prophecy and what does it mean to the Dark Lord?"

Reminding his father of the mission he was currently on the path to failing did not help his mood. "The matters of the Dark Lord are not of your concern," he shouted. After a deep breath, he continued, saying, "But your safety – at the very least – is _my_ concern. You see what dangers lie here – this war is out of your league. Leave now, and be safe."

"What about Harry?" asked Neville cautiously. "And the others?" Though his voice was quiet, his eyes were determined, and he never flinched once when he matched the gaze of Lucius Malfoy.

"I will do what I can for them," replied Lucius curtly. "But as I am, I can do nothing."

Time they didn't have ticked by as Draco exchanged glances with Neville and Luna. Yes: Draco wanted Neville and Luna out of there and back at Hogwarts where they would be safe, but his father would never comply with just letting those two go; he would not allow Draco to remain behind and search for the others. And then he remembered.

"Dobby," he said. He got to his feet and looked around. " _Dobby_ ," he said again, this time, louder.

"Why are you calling for our old house-elf?" his father asked with a frown. "House-elves cannot enter the Ministry," he added with a sigh of exasperation. Only Lucius Malfoy could still roll his eyes with disdain despite being tied up and in the middle of a battle. With an irritated huff, Draco was about to suggest that Neville and Luna remain behind with his father while he searched for the others when someone crashed their party: Bellatrix Lestrange walked into view and slowly made her way down the aisle toward them.

"My, my," she said in a leisurely tone that greatly contrasted the menace in her eyes. "You are in quite the bind there, aren't you, Lucius?" Her wand flashed and Neville yelled, " _Protego_ ," before Draco had even raised his own wand. But a simple shield charm was not enough to hold off what Bellatrix had cast; the shield shattered and blew them back. "Nice try," Bellatrix mocked, her smile as gaunt as her face. "I heard what you said, Lucius, about Potter. Shame," she added with a cluck of her tongue. "The Dark Lord won't like that."

"Bellatrix, quit your rambling and unbind me," demanded Draco's father.

"Oh, I don't think so. Tying you up was the one thing Draco got right. But perhaps I will re-position you, so that you may watch as I kill your one and only son."

Lucius's already pale complexion paled more. Draco felt a chill travel down his spine as his aunt approached, hunger and madness in her dark eyes. "Blood traitor," she hissed, taking one step forward.

"Think of Narcissa!" yelled Draco's father.

"He's no son of Black!" Bellatrix bellowed back. Her face, twisted with anger turned suddenly soft, and she smiled, which was disturbing. "I will do what you cannot, Lucius: I will correct this error – wipe this stain from our lineage. You and Cissy can have another child, and raise that one right, hm?"

Draco, Luna, and Neville had managed to scramble to their feet, but they had no where to go, and Draco knew they had little hope of surviving a fight against his aunt. As her wand went up, Draco shouted, " _Impedimenta_ ". The spell was blocked, but it bought him just enough time to blow up the shelves on either side of the aisle in which they stood. He then pointed to his father, intending to undo his bonds, but Draco was suddenly blown back by a powerful force. Walking through the rubble and dust of destruction, Bellatrix was preceded only by her bloodlust.

" _Re-Relashio_ ," Neville stammered, pointing his wand at Lucius Malfoy from where he knelt. But the ropes did not release. " _Relashio!_ " he said again, with more urgency.

The maniacal laughter of Bellatrix rang through the air. "Are you a Squib, boy?" she sniggered at Neville's expense. "What's your name? I want to make sure we don't accidentally recruit any of your siblings."

"Zacharias Smith," Draco said quickly.

"Smith?" Bellatrix repeated. Her eyes became unfocused. "Doesn't ring a bell… Die, Mudblood."

Draco had just enough time to push Neville out of the way of his aunt's curse. It hit the wall behind them and sent chunks of mortar flying about them.

" _Relashio!_ " Luna screamed. Finally free, Lucius turned and snatched Luna's wand from her hand and pointed at Bellatrix. Whatever spell he'd intended was not nearly as effective as it probably would have been had he used his own wand and perhaps spoken the incantation. But it was enough: Bellatrix halted mid-step and lowered her wand. Her movements were strained and jittery, and a hatred burned in her eyes as she fought against her brother-in-law.

"Dad," Draco cried, getting to his feet. He ran to his father's side.

"Listen to me, Draco," Lucius said through gritted teeth. "Take your friends and escape through that door."

"But that door –"

"Just do it! I cannot hold her for long, not with … Just. Go."

"What about your wand?"

To Draco's surprise, his father turned his head and, with great effort, smiled. "That wand is for the Head of the Malfoy Family. Take it. And go."

Heeding his father's words, Draco did take the wand; his fingers closed around the heirloom of his ancestors, and he pointed it at his aunt. " _Crucio._ " The threat was enough to drive Bellatrix into a desperate frenzy; at the last moment, she managed to break free of Lucius's curse and barely evaded Draco's. It struck her in the shoulder as she regained control of her body and reeled back, letting out an ear-splitting scream as she went down.

"Now!" Lucius shouted, grabbing his son and hurrying toward the door. Draco's father herded Luna and Neville through before them and slammed the door shut.

* * *

They found themselves in a large room; the air was noticeably colder and deathly still. All the room was made of stone, and it was dimly lit; in the middle stood a tall, ancient-looking stone arch with a shimmering veil hanging in the way. But the group had little time to think of their new surroundings, for they had escaped their fight only to walk into battle. Spells flew overhead and ricocheted off stone, blasting debris in all directions. There were few places to hide in that room; large stone slabs stood erect here and there, but most now lay in rubble. Harry ducked out from behind one and tried to stun one of the Death Eaters he was fighting; it was deflected and the Death Eater took the opportunity to advance.

"Stupefy!" Luna shouted, utilizing the element of surprise. She hit the Death Eater square, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Wait," Lucius said, grabbing Draco by the arm. Luna and Neville looked at them and, realizing that Draco's father was not stopping them, took off to Harry's side. "Draco, please. Leave this place."

"It's too late, Dad," Draco said, shaking off his father's grip. "I've made my decision."

Looking slightly despondent, his father asked, "What about your mother?"

He knew it was coming, but it still hurt to hear it. "I hope she'll understand." With one final look, Draco pressed his father's wand back into his hands. "This is still yours," he said. Then he ran off to join the others.

Harry had pretty much set-up base behind the crumbling stone pillar, and as soon as Draco joined him, he realized why: he and Ginny were the only two fit to fight. Ron was awake, but he was covered in blood and his leg looked broken; Neville had already begun administering first aid, conjuring bandages and a long splint.

"Where's Hermione, Potter?" Draco asked, looking around as Luna and Ginny fired off a bout of spells. Harry gave Draco a grim look. He nodded back, and in a small alcove, he saw her, lying motionless on the ground.


	27. Part 27

**Author's Note:**

 **For my friend,** **HallowedNightmare. After much badgering, the fate of Sirius Black lies in the words below. Brace yourself.**

* * *

Draco wanted to be mad at Harry – he _needed_ to be angry at _someone_.

"Before you do or say anything, Malfoy," Harry interjected, reading the look on Draco's face. "Hermione is alive – but she won't stay that way if we can't somehow deal with these Death Eaters. Where's your dad?"

Draco nodded sharply in the direction he'd come from. He glanced over the remains of the stone pillar expecting to see his father take charge of the situation, but he wasn't there. "He… _was_ there," said Draco uncertainly. He turned back to Harry and asked, "Where's the prophecy?"

"Tea time is over boys," Ginny remarked, dropping behind their safeguard as a particularly powerful spell shook the ground upon which they were crouched. "We can't keep this up," she said, smudges of soot and blood on her face. "What do we do?"

"Let me trade the prophecy for your safety," suggested Draco. "It might be the only way."

"The prophecy is gone," Harry said quickly, getting up to support Luna in keeping the Death Eaters at bay.

For a moment, Draco didn't really understand what Harry had said. Apparently, neither did Ginny, because she asked – and rather angrily, "What do you mean it's _gone_?" She got to her feet, glaring at Harry. He only had a moment to meet her gaze before pushing her back down behind the stone as two hexes flew overhead. Luna dodged the other way, rolling off to the side.

"Harry!" she shouted from where she lay. "What do we do?"

Ginny looked at Harry; Harry looked at Draco; Draco looked at Hermione who was now being looked over by Neville, but it was clear from his expression that treating her was beyond his level of first aid.

"I'll tell you what you filthy Mudblood and Blood Traitors will do," said Bellatrix in a loud and lofty voice. The room grew deadly silent save for the sound of her steps as she paced into the room. "You will surrender the prophecy and then you will die – one by one. But not quickly. Oh no, that ship… that ship has sailed." Her words were followed by the low chuckles of the other Death Eaters. "Dolohov, Macnair: go around the sides; stun them only if you must, I prefer my quarry alert and full of fear when I play with them. Crabbe: retrieve the prophecy from Potter, then restrain him. He will make a handsome gift for our most revered and beloved Dark Lord."

Someone, somewhere asked about Draco's father. Their response from Bellatrix was a slashing hex so violent, it knocked the Death Eater off his feet, and blood dripped down the front of his robes from behind his mask.

Draco and his friends glanced at each other momentarily before abandoning their position of relative safety. Harry, Ginny, and Draco jumped forward, Luna joining them from the side. Even Ron had managed to push himself up enough to cast a few well-aimed spells at the group of Death Eaters. But what chance five students had against four Death Eaters did not increase just because they were desperate. They split up, running around the room, hoping to divide the Death Eaters. In an amazing feat of skill and good luck, Luna actually managed to land a spell on Bellatrix. Unfortunately, her choice of spell was lacking. Somehow and for whatever reason, Luna had caused Bellatrix's long, dark hair to become extremely curly. Unmanageably curly.

"What did you do to me!" Bellatrix shrieked, surprisingly thrown by such a menial jinx.

"Luna!" Ginny screamed with delight, ducking as thick cords flew over her. "Brilliant!" She pointed her wand at Bellatrix and shouted, " _Stupefy!_ " But a new set of ropes lashed around her just as her spell flew, causing it to miss Bellatrix by an inch.

"Ginny!" Ron roared from where he sat on the ground. For a moment, it looked like he was going to run over, broken leg or not. With a powerful hex, Draco knocked back the Death Eater who had tied Ginny, and followed with a counter-binding spell for the youngest Weasley, but her relief was denied by another Death Eater who repelled the counter-spell. Draco cursed under his breath as he dove to one side of the stone archway for cover. He managed to cause one Death Eater in pursuit of Harry to trip, then turned back to Ginny just in time to see her magically hoisted up by her bonds into the air. His eyes moved next to Ron, who had struggled his way into the battle, but crawling along the ground would get him captured or killed faster than the rest of them. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw light; there was no time to counter, not even time to dodge; the only thing he could do was brace for impact. But it never came. A shield formed before him, rebounding the spell on its caster. His father moved out of the shadows and stood over him, facing the other Death Eaters.

"Traitor!" bellowed Bellatrix, forgetting her own instructions and catching Luna with a stun so charged, it sent her flying through the air. She hit the stone wall with a thud and fell to the ground. His aunt turned on his father immediately, the flashes of their spells illuminating the room. Movement off to the side caught Draco's attention and he saw Neville running to where Ginny hung suspended in the air. He signalled to Neville and asked, "Can you catch her?" though he wasn't sure he could be heard above the din of all the fighting. Neville nodded, and Draco cast the counter-binding spell at Ginny; she dropped as soon as the ropes disappeared. Apparently struggling to slow Ginny's fall with a spell, Neville forwent magic and instead, threw out his hands to catch the girl in his arms. Ginny crashed down onto him, knocking them both over.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Harry yelled from somewhere Draco couldn't see. His father and aunt were still at it, causing more damage to the room than everyone before. Ron had pulled himself over to Luna and seemed to be trying to wake her up. Another " _Expelliarmus,_ " resounded through the mayhem, but this time, it wasn't Harry who'd said it. Draco's wand was torn from his hand and caught by a Death Eater who suddenly appeared a few feet away from him. It was the Death Eater Bellatrix had slashed earlier, and now that his mask and hood had been removed, Draco recognized the all too familiar (albeit bloodied) face of his friend Vincent Crabbe's father.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, obviously with his own son in mind.

"Do not hesitate!" screamed Bellatrix, still in the midst of her duel. "He is a Blood Traitor and deserves death."

"No!" shouted Lucius. "He's just a boy, Crabbe. Just like your own."

Whatever Crabbe Senior would have decided, Draco would never know, because at that moment, the two main doors of the room were blasted open and through them came several members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Or that's what Draco presumed, anyway. Among the five was Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Alastor Moody; Draco didn't recognize the other two, one of which was a young woman with neon lavender coloured-hair. Crabbe was stunned off his feet even as he stood before Draco.

"Are you all right?" Lupin asked as Draco retrieved his wand from the unconscious Crabbe Senior. He looked up and around him as the Order swept through the chamber, changing the tides of battle and overwhelming the Death Eaters. The Witch with the brightly coloured hair was seeing to Luna and Ron's injuries while Ginny had brought the other one Draco didn't recognize to Hermione. Moody stood in front of Neville protectively while Sirius had just hexed off the Death Eater attacking Harry. Next, his eyes moved to the fight still raging between his father and aunt. He must have made an unconscious move toward them, because Lupin grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking his head. Even from where he sat, Draco could see the rising fear and desperation in his aunt's eyes. The other Death Eaters were down; she was the only one left. After a moment of hesitation, Lupin got to his feet, saying to Draco, "Stay here," before going to fight alongside Lucius. Draco's father was surprised, but did not refuse the assistance. Together they pushed Bellatrix back, but a cornered animal can be the most dangerous. Her eyes glanced at Draco only a second before she fired a curse at him. Sirius, who was watching nearby with Harry, stepped out and lunged forward to push Draco out of the way. Bellatrix disappeared with a puff of black smoke only to reappear next to Harry, the tip of her wand resting against his temple. Her other arm was draped around Harry's chest almost affectionately.

"Ah, ah," she said, taking a step back and dragging Harry with her. "Oh I'll kill him – you know I will." All the members of the Order – save the man Draco didn't know, who stood guard over the other students – were on their feet now converging to surround Bellatrix as she inched her way toward the exit.

"It's back to Azkaban for you, Lestrange," Moody growled, his magical eye fixed on the Witch. In the most terrifying way, Bellatrix laughed; it grated through Draco's ears all the way to his very core, and he couldn't help but wince.

"Wrong," she said quickly, in a playful tone. "How should we show them, Potter, how wrong they are, hm," Bellatrix cooed. She brought her face very close to his so that her unruly jinxed hair tangled with Harry's own unkempt mop (how he could wake up every morning and not _do_ something about his hair had always perplexed Draco; it was so unpresentable). "Perhaps I will put you under the Imperius Curse – _yes!_ I'll make you mine and you will fight these fools for me." Her heavy-lidded eyes flittered back to the members of the Order. Her lips parted with a twisted smile and she said, " _Imper –_ "

"NO!" Sirius shouted, jumping forward. Lupin caught his friend around the waist but could barely hold him back. Bellatrix turned her wand on him instead. " _Avada Ke –_ "

"Gahhh!" Harry screamed, pushing with all his might against his captor. The incomplete spell collided with Sirius, and both he and Lupin fell back onto the ground. The remaining members of the Order acted swiftly, but by the time Harry was free and clear of Bellatrix, she had already Disapparated from where she stood, Apparating seconds after, only steps from the exit. With one last mad, cackle, she ran out the door.

"Tonks, Shacklebolt: let's go," instructed Moody. He glanced at Lupin, then at Draco's father – who had stood by all this time, too stunned to act – and nodded.

The three Aurors left and Lupin got to his feet after carefully laying his friend's body on the ground. "Lucius," he said slowly, approaching the other man with his wand at the ready. To everyone's surprise, Lucius Malfoy surrendered immediately, laying his own wand down on the ground at his feet. He didn't say anything but looked at Draco, who noted that his father did not look defeated in the least.

"Sirius!" yelled Harry, bringing everyone's attention to the prostrate form of Sirius Black. "Sirius! Sirius!" he shouted over and over again, shaking him.

"Harry, wait," Lupin had begun to say, but Harry did not. Letting out a scream full of pain and anger, Harry got to his feet and ran for the door.

"WAIT!" Draco shouted, getting up and running after him. He tackled Harry to the ground, but the other boy fought him with strength mustered from the pain of loss. Harry elbowed Draco in the head, then kicked him off before continuing his course. Through the spots dotting his vision and the ringing in his ears, Draco watched Harry leave the room.

Lupin swore – out loud. He paced back and forth, unable to leave his post but unable to go after Harry. Hands helped Draco to his feet, and he looked up to see Neville, pale with terror. With a cry of frustration, Lupin exacted several spells, blasting a crater into the wall on the opposite side of the room. There was no shower of rock or debris, as every bit of stone the spell had touched seemed to simply incinerate.

"That will not help," Lucius said simply, looking bored despite his predicament. Leaning slightly on Neville, Draco made his way over to his father's side. He looked down on him kindly, taking his weight off Neville and onto himself. "Are you okay, son?" he asked.

" _God damn it, Padfoot!_ " Lupin carried on, screaming now at Sirius's body. To everyone's shock and utter bewilderment, Remus Lupin kicked Sirius Black.

"Remus!" Ginny screamed, jumping to her feet.

"Shut up!" he replied angrily. "HE'S NOT EVEN DEAD! But now Harry is in danger and I can't leave."

"He… He's not dead?" Ron repeated, sounding more shocked than when Sirius had been kicked. But Lupin was not in the mood to explain. He was pacing again, looking up or down to glare at either Lucius or Sirius.

Taking this time to speak with his son, Lucius pulled Draco a little closer. "Listen," he said, sounding very serious. "I will be taken to Azkaban, but there, I will be safe from the retribution of the Dark Lord. You and your mother…" He choked on the words and paused before starting again. "You and your mother, on the other hand… will become targets. Draco: I am sorry." The pride, arrogance, and conceit that his father always carried about him vanished, and what was left was a man who was lost.

Moody and the others suddenly reappeared, sweeping into the room with a rush of wind.

"Where's Harry?" Lupin asked immediately, meeting the team half-way.

"Get the kids," Moody said gruffly, ignoring Lupin's question. Shacklebolt and Tonks gathered the students, conjuring a sort of flat-bed rickshaw upon which Hermione was gently placed, Luna sat next to her – still groggy from her injury, and Ron last. Moody went straight to Lucius. There were no words exchanged as Moody put magic manacles over his wrists. The old Auror placed a gnarled hand on Draco's shoulder before leading his father away. "What of that one?" he asked, nodding at Sirius on the ground.

"What of Harry?" Lupin asked again, his words curt.

Whether Moody actually cared if Sirius was alive or dead remained unknown as he finally answered Lupin's question. "Potter is fine; he's with Dumbledore now."

"Dumbledore?" Lupin echoed, the dissension leaving his voice. "Dumbledore is here? He came?"

"Of course he did – and a good thing too. Because _He_ showed up."

No one needed to ask who " _He_ " was, and Moody carried on quickly as if he didn't want to dwell on it. "Anyway, Dumbledore's instructions are to clear out. The kids will go back to Hogwarts and straight to the infirmary where Poppy is waiting. He can go too, I suppose, if he's still alive," he added, nodding once more at Sirius. "Can't bring a wanted criminal to St Mungo's after all – although I think that's all about to change."


	28. Part 28

Draco woke up in the middle of the night and, for a moment, forgot where he was. But only for a moment. Everything came rushing back to him like a tidal wave, washing out the bliss of forgetfulness. He lowered his head into his hands.

His father had been taken to Azkaban as he had been returned to Hogwarts with the others. Madam Pomfrey wasted no time treating her patients. Ron's leg was mended in an instant, Luna reinvigorated, Ginny's minor cuts dressed; Neville and Draco had escaped with the least injuries, but were prescribed a very large mug of hot chocolate each. Harry was absent, though they were assured he was with Professor Dumbledore. Sirius Black had been admitted to the school's infirmary as well. From what Draco understood, because the Killing Curse was incomplete, Sirius had escaped death, but was now in something of a coma. It was unsure when he would wake up. The worst was Hermione: her diagnosis was indefinite. Even with Madam Pomfrey's expertise in medicine and healing, she could not determine what was ailing her. Physically, Hermione was fine, but she could not be revived – not with spells nor draughts, or even with something called 'smelling salts'.

Draco pushed back his covers and slipped out of bed. To his left slept Ron, and to the right, Neville. It appeared that Harry had joined them, occupying the bed next to Ron's. The other three boys seemed fast asleep, the rise and fall of their breathing steady. The girls were sleeping on the opposite end of the infirmary. Sirius had been given the bed nearest Madam Pomfrey's office, on account that he needed to be closely monitored. Lupin had remained behind at Hogwarts and had fallen asleep in a chair next to his friend's bedside.

Very quietly, Draco walked over to where Hermione was, making sure not to wake the other girls. She certainly looked like she was just sleeping, and Draco's heart hurt thinking how long it'd been since he last looked into her beautiful brown eyes. Their flight on the Thestral felt like forever ago, and a lot had happened since. He reached down and brushed back her hair, and then kissed her forehead. Her skin was slightly warmer than normal, as if she had a mild fever.

"Wake up," he said, very quietly. It wasn't a demand or even a suggestion; in fact, he wasn't even asking her; he was begging. "If only I had been there," he continued, taking up her hand and kissing that too. "I _should_ have been there."

"It's not your fault," another quiet voice said in the dark. It was Luna; she'd rolled over so that she was looking at him, her large eyes glimmering in what little light drifted in through the windows.

"How are you feeling?" Draco asked her, managing a small smile. She shrugged in response. "You were amazing tonight, you know?" he added.

"I know," she agreed matter-of-factly. She smiled as well. "Can't sleep?"

Draco shook his head. "A lot on the mind, you know."

"Yes. I can't wait to tell father all about it. It'll make a wonderful exclusive in the Quibbler. I would think he'd like to interview you as well – and perhaps your father?"

Despite the touchiness of the topic, Luna had mentioned Draco's father so casually – which he thought would upset him, but he found he couldn't really be upset with Luna. "My father's in Azkaban," he reminded her with a sigh. "I don't think he'll be allowed any interviews. Sorry." The thought of his father in Wizard Prison caused his chest to ache; he had his mother to think about too. After one final squeeze, he laid Hermione's hand back on the bed.

"Where are you going?" Luna asked when he started walking in the opposite direction of his bed.

"I have to see the Headmaster." He looked back when he heard the sound of barefoot steps following him. "Go back to bed, Luna!" he hissed, trying to be forceful without being loud. The Ravenclaw didn't listen and continued to follow him to Madam Pomfrey's office.

The school's Matron sat in her office, surrounded by a mountain of books, several of them open on top of the others. She was making notes on a pad of parchment and muttering to herself. When she noticed that Draco and Luna were out of bed, she got to her feet. "What's wrong?" she asked with a hurried tone.

"Nothing's wrong, Madam Pomfrey," Draco replied quickly.

"Then why are you two out of bed?"

"I was hoping to see the Headmaster," explained Draco. He glanced at Luna to see what she would say, but she didn't say anything. "I have something important to speak to him about. It – It's about my family."

Madam Pomfrey studied Draco and Luna a moment before answering. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. The Headmaster is dealing with other more pertinent issues at the moment, plus it's very late."

"Madam Pomfrey," Luna said suddenly.

"Yes, dear?"

"May I have something to eat?"

The Matron smiled. "Of course." She pulled a slip of parchment and a quill from somewhere on her desk. "What would you like?"

"Don't you think a grilled cheese sandwich would be nice, Draco?" the Ravenclaw girl asked, staring up at Draco with a smile. "Would you mind asking Dobby to bring them? He's a friend."

It took Draco a moment to understand what Luna was doing, but when he figured it out, he could have hugged her on the spot. Her smile widened knowingly. They moved to an empty section of the infirmary to wait on their late night snack, sitting on the edge of two beds, facing each other.

"Theo's right," Draco remarked, staring at Luna in awe. "You. Are. Brilliant."

Luna shrugged as if this were a well-known and very common fact, but even in the dark, Draco could see that her pale cheeks flushed slightly. "I remember you calling for Dobby at the Department of Mysteries."

"But… how did you know I had a contract with him?"

"Oh, I didn't," replied Luna. "Look, here he is now."

Appearing out of thin air (and without a loud crack, Draco noticed) was not Dobby, but rather, Winky. In her hands she held a large silver platter, two grilled cheese sandwiches sitting on top. She smiled at them.

"Hello," she said in a loud whisper.

Luna and Draco stared at each other. "That's not Dobby," commented Luna, pointing out the obvious.

"Dobby is not free," Winky said, handing them each a plate. "Dobby is having an accident that is preventing him from coming to bring Young Master and Young Miss their sandwiches."

"Is he okay?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow with concern.

Winky nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Dobby is quite okay. Especially since Winky made sure not to hurt him too badly. Dobby will be fine but he was not able to deliver the sandwiches. Winky apologizes for Dobby." She bowed low before them, and Draco couldn't help but notice that Winky didn't _look_ particularly apologetic. "Is there somethings else that Winky can do for Young Master or Young Miss?"

Perhaps it was his Slytherin intuition, but Draco suspected Winky had an ulterior motive. "What are you doing here, Winky?" he asked, sounding commanding, hoping she would respond honestly despite having no authority over her. Maybe it was the house-elf's need and desire to serve, or her having spent a lifetime following orders, but whatever it was, Winky _did_ answer Draco's question truthfully.

"Winky is jealous," she admitted, looking sulky. "Winky is hating that Dobby is belonging to Draco Malfoy when Dobby has no pride in belonging to a family."

With a sigh, Draco replied, "For the last time, Winky: Dobby does not belong to me or my family. Not anymore."

"But Dobby is in contract with Draco Malfoy," she said almost longingly.

"Yes but… Now isn't really the best time to talk about this Winky. Can you get Dobby for me?"

Winky's reply shocked Draco. "No," she said firmly. It had been a few years since the Malfoy's lost Dobby but it was still odd for Draco to have a house-elf deny his request.

"Winky…" he began to reason, but she wouldn't hear him out, instead shaking her head side to side fervently. Draco looked to Luna for help, but she just sat across from him, quietly munching on her sandwich and looking like she rather enjoyed the exchange between Draco and Winky. "Fine," he hissed at last. "So how am I going to get home then?"

"Winky can take you," said Winky resolutely. "What Dobby can do, Winky can do." She pulled from the pocket of her dress a scrap piece of parchment. On it, she had copied – word for word – Dobby's contract with Draco, scratching out here and there some details, like Dobby's specific conditions and payment. At the bottom, she had already signed and stamped her print. "Sign this for Winky," she demanded of Draco. Again, it was beyond weird for him to be addressed by a house-elf in that manner.

"I – I don't have a quill," Draco excused.

With a snap of her fingers, Winky produced a quill from thin air. She held it out for him. "Sign for Winky," she repeated. Slowly, Draco reached out and took the parchment and quill from the house-elf. Luna took a seat next to him, curious about the contract herself. "Would Young Miss be interested in Winky's services as well?" Winky offered.

"Oh no," Luna declined politely. "I've got a pet alligator at home that would just eat you for supper. So I don't think that's a very good idea. But thank you for the offer."

Winky nodded, then turned back to Draco, staring at him with her large, round eyes, not blinking even once. "Winky, there's no payment amount. You have to be paid something."

"Winky's work is payment enough."

"That's not how it works," Draco said. Speaking with a bit more force, he continued. "You have to be paid _something_ , Winky. Now six Galleons is what Dobby chose for himself and –"

"Why should Winky be accepting payment?" she asked incredulously, looking insulted and pained. "Winky is just wanting to work. Winky is wanting to belong to a family!"

Though he was worried that Winky might start crying or throwing a fit, Draco knew he had to put his foot down. "You must because I am a member of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and if you work without pay my girlfriend will never let me hear the end of it. Now, accept payment or go back to the kitchens."

Winky froze, eyes wide, mouth open. For a long moment, she didn't react and Draco was worried she was suffering from some sort of house-elf seizure. Finally, she conceded. "Fine," she said. "Winky will work –" she choked, "– for pay."

"Six Galleons is the standard now," Draco said out loud as he wrote the amount on the parchment. He made her initial the change as proof of acknowledgement. "Three now and three upon termination of contract." Winky didn't agree verbally but she didn't have a choice; she had already signed.

"I think the terms are very fair," said Luna reassuringly. Winky gave her a scathing look.

"Be nice, Winky," Draco reprimanded, and was pleased when her scowl immediately disappeared.

"What is Master liking for Winky to do?" she asked. "Winky will do better than Dobby; Winky promises."

"I need to go home," said Draco, his eyes glancing up at Madam Pomfrey's office. "Just for a bit. I need to see my Mum."

* * *

Draco made a mental note that house-elf magic was not to be underestimated. Winky had brought him out of the school's infirmary to standing in the middle of the grand foyer at home as fast as Apparition – and with none of the nausea.

"Yes," she murmured, looking around when they had arrived. "You is needing Winky. Dust everywhere. Master is not minding if Winky does a little… cleaning?"

Draco nodded absent-mindedly before running for the stairs. "MOTHER!" he shouted, his voice carrying upstairs faster than he could run. There was silence at first, but then he heard the unmistakable sounds of his mother getting up and walking down the hallway. They met near the top of the stairs; she had her wand out and pointed it at her son. "Mum, it's me," Draco said, holding both hands up. She studied him a long while before lowering her wand – and then she hugged him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, squeezing the life out of him. "And… Draco, is that a house-elf?" His mother let go of him and swept down the stairs, her eyes on Winky who was clambering down from an antique side table. Winky bowed low before Narcissa Malfoy. "What a charming thing she is," Narcissa exhaled.

"That's Winky," Draco said quickly, having followed his mother down the stairs. "Mum, I have to talk to you about something – it's about Dad and Aunt Bellatrix."

That got his mother's attention immediately. She grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him back to the stairs where they took a seat on the steps. Draco told his mother everything that had happened – the letter he had received from his father, how Harry believed Sirius Black had been captured (though he didn't explain _how_ Harry came to believe this), the Battle at the Department of Mysteries – how Bellatrix had tried to kill him, and the price his father paid for trying to protect him. His mother listened quietly, not interrupting him once, beginning to end. When he was finished, she sighed.

"Bella will be here by morning, make no mistake of that. She will try and reclaim me as a daughter of Black."

"…How do you feel about all this?" Draco asked. His mother looked at him and smiled.

"I am Narcissa _Malfoy_ : Wife of Lucius, mother of Draco. That is who I am, and that is who I will remain. You are the loves of my life, and I would rather die than turn my back on you."

Now it was Draco's turn to squeeze the life out of his mother. "You need to get out of here, Mum. Aunt Bellatrix won't let you go so easily."

His mother nodded. "I'll stay with Andromeda. She'll understand. But what about you?"

Draco hadn't thought that far but he didn't want to worry his mother further. "For now, I have to return to Hogwarts. I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore –"

"No," his mother objected. "Just because I don't trust Bella and the Dark Lord does not mean that I trust Albus Dumbledore. You need to be safe, Draco. Not involved, do you hear me?"

"It's too late, Mother," said Draco gently. "I'm already involved."

"It's that Muggleborn girl, isn't it? The one you've been writing and sending gifts to. All along she's done this to you – changed you."

Unable to help himself, Draco smiled. "Yeah. She has changed me. But I believe it's for the better. And I'm doing this as much for you and Dad, as I am for her. Do you understand that?"

Narcissa assumed her typical cold expression. "I do not," she replied. But then, with a sigh, she softened. "But I do understand that you've reached a point in your life where you can't just listen to your mother anymore." She brushed back his light-blonde hair and kissed his forehead. "Be safe, sweetheart."


	29. Part 29

The following morning, Professor Dumbledore paid the infirmary a visit and shared with everyone what had happened to Hermione. He knew because Harry had told him the evening before in private. He did not act until morning because other things were necessary before anything could be done.

"She's absorbed the prophecy," Ginny repeated, furrowing her brow. She looked to Luna – as if the Ravenclaw might be able to put it more simply, but even Luna could only blink at the revelation.

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, his tone half-worried and half-angry. "And how do we fix it?"

"Prophecy Records are a curious thing," the Headmaster mused out loud. "They are, as you all know, given by Seers, and since Seers do not ever recall the prophecies they give, it is imperative that someone who is present when the prophecy is told submits the memory for record – this doesn't always happen, mind you, and it has led to grave tragedy. Ah, there was once a Seer who foretold that there would be a devastating shortage of _Typha Latifolia_ – or more commonly known as Cattails; very tasty when pickled. His daughter was the one who heard the prophecy but never bothered to have it recorded for review. She died about a year later from a venomous snake bite."

Confused looks were exchanged and Draco thought he saw Lupin roll his eyes, but no one said anything. No one had anything to say, at least, not to that bit of information. So the Headmaster continued. "A Prophecy Record is merely an extracted Memory that is reviewed, recorded, and stored under heavy protection. Only authorized Unspeakables – and those who the prophecies pertain to – can access a Prophecy Record, which is why Harry was able to retrieve the Record without injury. But what does one do with a Prophecy Record?"

"What _does_ one do with a Prophecy Record, Headmaster?" Luna chimed.

" _That_ is a very good question, Miss Lovegood. The Memory that becomes a Prophecy Record is enchanted so that it may only be reviewed by a Special Pensieve located in the Department of Mysteries; it will not work in any other."

"But _what_ does that have to do with Hermione?" Draco asked, speaking slowly to keep from yelling out of impatience.

"A Prophecy must always be contained, and in the absence of something to contain it, the Prophecy may be absorbed by a person for holding. This person is rendered incapacitated once it becomes the vessel of a Prophecy, as Prophecies are not for everyone to know."

"So," Harry said, his brow wrinkled in thought. "Hermione has essentially become the same thing as that glass orb."

"Correct," Professor Dumbledore replied, smiling brightly.

"And how do we reverse this affect?" asked Draco, still perplexed by the Headmaster's obvious lack of concern. "Hermione can't be a 'glass orb' forever."

"Of course Prophecies can be extracted, but it is necessary that the right person do the extracting." All eyes turned to the Headmaster expectantly. "Oh, that isn't me," he said with a chuckle. "But someone will be along shortly from the Department of Mysteries to retrieve the Prophecy."

"What _is_ the Prophecy, Professor?" asked Ron, glancing at his best friend. "I mean, we know it's about Harry, isn't it?"

The Headmaster and Harry exchanged looks. "I'm afraid, as I've said before Mr Weasley: not all Prophecies are for everyone to know. However, in due time, perhaps you will be enlightened, but, that is not a decision for you nor I to make."

"So, Hermione will be okay?" Ginny reiterated.

"Absolutely," Professor Dumbledore assured them, his bright blue-eyes meeting Draco's gaze. "In fact, I imagine she's had a better night than the rest of you."

* * *

With their injuries from their fight healed, Draco and the others were dismissed to return to their everyday school routine. Draco had wanted to stay with Hermione until someone from the Ministry had come and fixed her, but he was not allowed. The lot of them ended up walking out onto the school grounds together and, sitting by the lake in the sunshine, shared their experiences from the previous night.

"I was really hoping I could spend the summer with Sirius instead of returning to the Dursley's," Harry complained with a heavy sigh. "But with the way he is…" He trailed off without finishing, looking depressed.

"I'm sure he'll be fine, Harry," Luna reassured him, reaching out and patting his hand gently. "He's not dead, after all." Harry managed a weak smile of appreciation. "If you'd like, you can join me and Dad; he's taking me to Sweden. We're going to see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Harry's smile twitched. "Umm, thanks for the offer Luna, but I don't think that would be the best idea," he replied.

"At least you've got somewhere to return," Draco said glumly. He shared about his late-night trip back home and his discussion with his mother. In the end, they had agreed that Draco would not stay with his Aunt Andromeda as well; it was better – safer – if they could not be found together. It had occurred to Draco that, perhaps the safest place for him to stay might be Hogwarts, but he had yet to discuss that with the Headmaster.

"Would you like to come to Sweden?" offered Luna.

Draco smiled and shook his head. "I hate to agree with Potter, but that really isn't the best idea. It'll put you and your father further in harm's way," he explained. It surprised him to consider someone else's well-being, but he was sincerely concerned for those he was with; they had all become targets – well, all of them plus Zacharias Smith, and he admittedly felt no remorse for giving his name instead of revealing that Neville was a Longbottom. The conversation carried on until dinner, at which time, they returned inside the castle.

To say the Slytherin table was sullen that evening would have been an understatement. The actions of Pansy, Millicent, and Daphne that night in Umbridge's office had resulted in most of their House Points being deducted, and with Professor Dumbledore reinstated as Headmaster, none of what they had done with the Inquisitorial Squad meant anything anymore – which disappointed even Draco, who had worked really hard to maintain Hogwart's good name. The _Daily Prophet_ had also printed a front-page article regarding the Dark Lord's return that morning which left many Slytherin students who were associated one way or another with the Dark Lord's following unsettled.

"So," Blaise said, shifting in his seat next to Draco, "this is really happening, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it is," Draco replied.

"So He is back then," Gregory Goyle mumbled, staring blankly at the empty plate before him. "Did you – did you see him?" he asked, glancing up quickly.

Draco shook his head. "But I'm sure of it. I was actually sure of it when Potter said He was back last year. You guys knew it too, didn't you?" No one said anything, but their silence was proof enough. "Look, guys –"

"Let's not talk about this," Theodore interrupted loudly. He wore a grim expression that showed more conviction than Draco had ever seen from his friend. "We all know what's going to be expected from us – on both sides. We know what's at stake. But none of that means anything for at least another five days, when term ends. So, for now, let's not talk about it." It was a rather roundabout way of saying things, but Theodore's message was clear: while they were still at Hogwarts, they were still friends and comrades. After that summer, everything would change, but summer was not upon them yet.

"Did you guys hear? They found Umbridge this morning," Blaise reported with a smirk. "Rumor has it Professor Dumbledore rescued her from deep within the Forbidden Forest. No one knows what happened to her, but she looked a right mess when the Headmaster carried her out. She was dismissed from her position and sent away immediately. Probably to St Mungo's. She looked like she needed medical attention."

The boys chuckled over the fate of Professor Umbridge until dinner was served. After eating their fill (and then some), they made their way back to the Slytherin Commons.

"Theo," Draco called out from behind, before the other boy stepped through the door. Theodore walked back to where Draco stood in the corridor. "I know we said we weren't going to talk about it but, there's something you need to know."

"Alright," Theodore agreed, nodding once.

"Your father was there – along with Vin's. And mine. They're in Azkaban now."

Theodore didn't say anything at first, and his expression was impossible to read. "Thanks," he said at length, his voice flat.

"I wanted to tell you because –"

"I know why," Theodore said, forcefully interrupting Draco for a second time that night. "I know why you're telling me," he repeated. "And I mean it: Thanks." He turned back toward the door, and when Draco didn't follow, he looked back. "Come on," Theodore said, with an exasperated smile. "Your other friends might be too kind-hearted to tell you, but you look like hell. Can't have your girlfriend waking up to see you in this sorry state, now can we?" Theodore threw an arm around Draco's shoulders and together, the two boys disappeared behind the door.

* * *

Hermione was released from Madam Pomfrey's care the next day, and for the remainder of the school year, Draco did his best to enjoy life as they knew it. The students received their year-end examination results, the fifth-years finally finding out how they fared with their O.W.L.s. Draco was pleased to have scored mostly Outstandings, but his overall rank in the school dropped a couple of places.

"Well, at least we won't have our fathers to answer to, I guess," Theodore joked, putting his report away in his trunk. With the end of term only a day away, Draco and Theodore were getting some packing done ahead of time. "Not that they would have anything to complain about; I'm pretty sure I've scored higher marks than either of my parents did when they were at Hogwarts. Plus, I'm the second-smartest student in our year."

"You don't need to remind me – _again_ ," Draco griped. "You didn't have nearly as much to deal with as I did this year."

"And whose fault is that?" teased Theodore with a smile. "Have you figured out what you'll do this summer yet?"

Draco had approached their Head of House and asked about remaining at Hogwarts during the summer, but he learned that was not possible. Since then, he'd been mulling several options over in his head. "Not sure yet," he answered. "What about you?"

"I… I have to go home, I think," replied Theodore, looking thoroughly displeased. " _She's_ there, you know."

"I thought that's why you _didn't_ want to return home."

"Haven't got a choice. Dad would kill me if I abandoned her, especially without him around."

With a smirk, Draco reminded his friend that their fathers were in Wizard Prison. Theodore laughed. "If you think that's going to stop my Dad, then you don't know him very well." Draco shrugged, taking that as a fair point.

After packing, they headed down to the Great Hall where they watched some students play a few rounds of Exploding Snap before they were all chased out by Filch. They wandered around before running into Luna in one of the main corridors; she appeared to be pinning some notices up. Draco called out to her and inquired what she was posting.

"They're just posters for my things that have gone missing."

"Why have your things gone missing?" asked Theodore with a frown, looking at the list.

"Oh, people take them and hide them," she explained casually. "It happens all the time, and they always come back but I'd wanted to pack early so I wouldn't miss the year-end feast tomorrow."

"We'll help you find your things, Luna," Draco said, nodding at Theodore. They took one of the lists and set off on their search. Luna had suggested they start in the odd corners of the school ("Things tend to turn up in out of the way places,") but they had a better idea. They walked until they found a group of Ravenclaw students – Draco recognized a few of them from the D.A.

"It's the girls," Anthony Goldstein said with a shake of his head. "They're always picking on her."

"And you don't do anything about it?" Draco reprimanded. "You're a Ravenclaw Prefect."

"Oh come on, Malfoy," Anthony laughed jokingly. "You know girls are crazy, right? They're more vicious than an offended Hippogriff when they pick on each other."

"Well, what about you?" Draco asked, turning to Michael Corner. "You're dating Ginny Weasley, and they're friends. Surely you can stand up to them?"

The Ravenclaw boys stopped laughing. "We broke up," Michael informed Draco sourly. "I don't care what happens to Luna _or_ Ginny for that matter." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked off, the other boys following behind.

"Gits," Theodore muttered under his breath. "I guess we need to find some girls, then, don't we?"

"More vicious than an offended Hippogriff," Draco repeated. "You think that was a jab at me?"

"Come on," Theodore said, rolling his eyes as he steered Draco down the hallway.

It didn't take them very long to find some Ravenclaw girls, and, when confronted with the issue of Luna's Missing Things, it turned out that the Ravenclaw boys had not been lying.

"What," one of them drawled, cocking her head and raising an eyebrow at the two Slytherins. "You're accusing us of stealing Loony's things? Why do you even care?"

" _Luna_ Lovegood happens to be our friend," Draco said, his aggravation quickly rising. " _And_ I'm a Prefect."

"So?" another girl said with a laugh. "Detention won't stand on the second-last day of school, and the Inquisitorial Squad is no longer in affect, so it's not like you can deduct House Points."

Theodore stepped forward with his wand in hand. "What makes you think we care about House Points?"

"Watch yourself, Nott," a seventh-year warned, also stepping up with her wand. "This is Ravenclaw business. We'll do as we like to those in our House. And if you consider _Loony_ one of your friends, it only speaks poorly of the company you keep."

Now Draco's wand was out as well, and he pointed it at the older Ravenclaw. " _Luna_ is one of the brightest, most brilliant Witches I know. And she's too good for any of you." Before another word could be said, his wand danced over the girls, and every single one of them ended up with a new, very tight permed hairstyle.

"What!?" they screamed incredulously. They immediately retaliated, but Draco and Theodore easily repelled their hexes in one breath, and disarmed them in the next.

"You'll want to see Luna about the counter-spell for that jinx because I don't know it," Draco remarked as he casually tossed one of the girls' wand through the air.

"That will be a good time to return her things," Theodore added with a haughty smirk. "And don't touch her stuff again."

"You can't protect her forever," one of the girls hissed. "We'll make sure her life is hell for the rest of her years at Hogwarts, and it'll be all _your_ fault."

Draco snapped his fingers and Winky magically appeared. "Yes, Master?" she said cheerfully with a bow.

"Winky, this is an order: Keep an eye on Luna Lovegood. If someone causes her trouble, punish them."

The house-elf bowed again, and when she straightened, she looked directly at the band of curly-haired girls. "Winky is watching," she said with a mischievous smile before disappearing.

The wand Draco was flipping dropped onto the ground with a clatter; he walked forward and placed his foot over it. "You were saying?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Because Slytherins aren't the only bullies.**


	30. Part 30 - Crookshanks

**Author's Note:**

 **This chapter is just for fun. It should come as no surprise that I love cats.**

* * *

 **The Life and Times of Crookshanks** _(As told by Crookshanks)_

I spent the first half of my youth living alone in the wilds of Great Britain, fending for myself, gaining street smarts and street cred. Then, one day, I met a little girl and – how could I say "no" to a face like that, all cute and squishy. We became fast friends, which made it all the more difficult when she died. Her parents left me with a shelter almost immediately after, but I didn't stay for long. Not that I was adopted, mind you. Actually, far from it. Being part-Kneazle, I can understand human speech – although, even the average cat can read body language (humans can be so clueless) – and if I had to sit in that cage and listen to them call me "unadoptable" one more time… Well, thanks for the kibble humans, but I had options. So I left. I had to admit, at first, it was great to be back on the streets. Cohabitating with a human had made me soft, and it was good for my instincts to scrap with other magical beasts and lesser cats over food and territory. But it was a bit lonely. Every time it rained, I was reminded of how scared that little girl got during storms; she would throw her blanket over us to block out the sound, and I would purr loudly to reassure her. Thunderstorms would never be the same for me again.

One day, when I was hunting gnomes for fun in the countryside, I met a Wizard who immediately saw me for what I was (brilliant and beautiful). He followed me around for about fifteen minutes, and a couple of times I nearly lost him and had to double-back to find _him_ (humans can be so helpless), before we stopped and had a real conversation. It went something like this:

Wizard: "You are an incredible creature, you know?"

Me: _Of course I know. What do you take me for, Wizard?_

Wizard: "Were you trying to catch something to eat, boy?"

Me: _Certainly not! Gnomes make for a disgusting meal; I'd rather eat grass. And don't call me 'boy'. I have a name, Wizard._

(I should probably note that while I could understand him, he could not understand me. It takes a rare and special human to speak cat. I have only ever met one myself.)

Wizard: "You look hungry. Let's see what I have… Don't suppose you like peanut butter? Probably not…"

Me: _This Wizard can't even tell that I'm well fed because I'm a self-sufficient hunte–_

Wizard: "What about this tin of tuna?"

Me: _TUNA? Did the man say tuna?_

So we shared the tin of tuna. It was a great meeting. Anyway, after that, I agreed to keep him in my company. He was an interesting Wizard and a bit of a hunter himself. In that respect, we got along well. He didn't always keep or kill his prey though, which was puzzling to me at first; he even had the nerve to scold me for finishing his catches off for him. After being reprimanded for only doing what I thought was in his best interest, I stuck to stalking, chasing, and capturing prey, leaving the rest to him. It was impossible to tell when he wanted something dead or alive to play with anyhow. And can you even call it playing? Sometimes he extracted liquids – venom, saliva, blood; other times he carefully collected samples of skin, fur, quills, or even teeth. This one time, I watched as he painstakingly procured filings from the hoof of a Nogtail. Wizards are curious creatures, and I have long stopped trying to understand them.

We partnered for quite a while and had shared a good life. But after a few years, his work required him to move. He would have taken me with him, or so he said (and I believed him), but something called "customs" prevented our relationship from carrying forward in this new place he was traveling to. He brought me to a Magical Animal shop and sung my praises to the shopkeeper. With a tin of tuna as his parting gift, he assured me that I would be picked up in no time, clever as I was. I had no reason to doubt his words, so I didn't bother to settle in and make friends with the other animals there. But I had no idea that I would wait for as long as I did for the _right_ companion to come around. Oh, there were people who wanted me, but _I_ did not want _them_. A half-cat, half-Kneazle of my magnificence does not go home with just _anyone_. It was exhausting acting out to deter lesser Witches and Wizards from wanting me (humans can be so stubborn), and for a long while, I thought I might be living out the rest of my years at _Magical Menagerie_.

But then, one day, _they_ walked in. I smelled him immediately and crept from my spot in the window to observe. He _looked_ like a rat, but a real rat he most certainly was not. His owner – a dim fellow whose best feature was the colour of his hair – for all the concern he had for the creature was asking the shopkeeper the wrong questions. He wasn't even a rat! What good would 'rat tonic' do him? (Humans can be so useless.) To be fair, I didn't know _exactly_ what he was either, but at least I was going to do some investigating and find out; I pounced from the highest cage and landed on the tall and lanky boy (the other had dark, unreasonably messy hair that would have tangled with my claws) – and would have had the pseudo-rat between my teeth if everyone hadn't caused such a commotion. Was it really so startling to see a cat chase a rat? But I suppose all things happen for a reason. The boys ran out of the shop after it, and I came eye-to-eye with the loveliest Witch my keen eyes had ever beheld. Anyone who was anyone could see her intelligence was nearly on par with mine, plus she had beautiful eyes.

"Well, hello," she said as I paced back and forth across the counter. "Aren't you a handsome creature?" I purred to let her know I was pleased, and she gently stroked my fur.

"He's really taken to you," the shopkeeper commented, peering from behind her black-rimmed spectacles. "He's been here a while, Crookshanks. Can't seem to get along well enough for anyone to take him home."

"Oh, I can't imagine that," the young Witch said. "He's a sweetheart."

"Well, if you're looking for a feline companion, he's the smartest one we've got. His last owner suspects he's half-Kneazle, but he's unregistered so there's no real way to know, except he's downright clever."

The young Witch studied me, uncertainty clear in her eyes. "I'd actually wanted an owl," she said, glancing at some of the birds about the shop. "To deliver letters and –" I meowed loudly, interjecting my objection. I was far better than any owl would be for her, plus she needed my protection from whatever that thing was. Though they had only been together in the shop a moment, I could tell from their behaviour that this Witch was close friends with those two Wizards; thus, she needed me. "But Crookshanks…" the young Witch reasoned, making a sad face. Again I meowed. This was _my_ Witch and I knew it. I was not going to take 'no' for an answer.

"Why don't you go ahead and look around," the shopkeeper suggested, reaching out to pick me up, but I jumped lithely off the counter and onto a high shelf. I followed the young Witch around the shop, shaking any cage she so much as glanced at. The owls didn't like it, of course – they were actually quite rude with their words (owls can be so pompous) – but they were helpless to stop me. She circled the shop once, smiling at me all the way through, and we met again at the front counter, where I sat by the register.

"Did you find anything you like?" the shopkeeper asked.

"I think," the young Witch replied. "Crookshanks has made my decision for me."

Bonding with Hermione took top priority. I judged that the one called "Ron" would not let the rat-thing out of his sight, which meant I had time to investigate it. Plus, the messy-haired one – "Harry" – had an owl. Making friends was not my speciality, but I had a feeling I would have to put forth the effort to at least get along with these other animal companions. Hedwig was easy enough to reach a common understanding with, plus she was often not around, preferring the company of other owls in the owlery. I only saw her now and then when I went for routine strolls around the school perimeter.

And speaking of the school – or as I prefer to think of it – the zoo, it was the most difficult and aggravating environment to adapt to! Students running rampant through the whole castle! And their pets… most of them were unremarkable at best. There were only a few other cats, and they all appeared to have been raised indoor and wouldn't likely last a day on their own except to become some other animal's meal. One cat in particular that I'd hoped _would_ get eaten belonged to the school's caretaker. Known as Mrs Norris, she was a dusty-coloured plain thing that roamed the corridors like she owned the place. Needless to say, we didn't get along. More than once, she cost me the capture of the rat-thing. It didn't help that he was apparently very familiar with the school, disappearing behind statues and wall-hangings, and escaping via secret passages. Well, he did have two years on me, I suppose. But not all animals at the school were bad. The Groundskeeper kept a dog who was kind even if he was slow-witted. And a slob. We would play sometimes and he would tell me about the residents of the Forbidden Forest. While I was curious about some of them (especially the ones that might have been tasty), I was smart enough to know that even I might not survive in those woods alone. So when another large, black dog appeared on the outskirts of them late one evening, I'll admit, I was a bit startled. I watched from a safe spot as it roamed back and forth, clinging to the shadows but apparently desperate to get closer to the school. He managed to get in once too, but apparently had a run in with the Fat Lady who guards the Gryffindor entrance. I can't say I wasn't pleased that he shredded her painting though; the woman always had _something_ to say about my robust figure – as if _she_ were one to talk. This new dog targeting my Hermione's House greatly concerned me, and after some more careful observation, I decided to approach him. I was most surprised to learn that he was not a dog at all, but rather a man in the form of a dog. He introduced himself as "Padfoot" and shared with me his mission to find a rat that was not a rat. I told him I knew exactly what he spoke of. I offered to kill the rat-revealed-as-man for him, but Padfoot insisted on being the one to do it. Vengeance was something I could respect so I instead offered my assistance.

If only all dogs were like Padfoot; he was a canine I could fight alongside and possibly even die for. Possibly. Maybe. You know, we were both clever enough to never come to a situation like that. Well, at least he was in animal form. As a man – Sirius Black was a bit more irrational. Had he remained in dog form, that night we finally caught the rat-man might have gone better. Instead, I got stunned, he got into a fight with his friend – who was a werewolf, and the rat-man got away.

Now, don't tell her I said this, but I was saved by Imperia – that self-centred, haughty eagle owl that belongs to Draco Malfoy. She was circling overhead that night for whatever reason and saw what happened. Nipping me hard, she awoke me from my daze and ordered me (can you believe a bird giving a cat orders) to run, directing me after the rat-man. Well, if it would get me the rat-man, I wasn't about to argue. I followed her screeches until I could catch his scent myself. He was scared, that much I knew; it didn't help him that he was heavily perspiring now, probably running harder and faster than he's had to for years.

If rat-man was a mere rodent, between Imperia and I, he would have been snapped up, torn into two equal pieces and brought back to our owners as gifts. But he – like Sirius Black – was a man. The moment I leapt into the air, he transformed. I landed on his back and he struggled to throw me off. Imperia dove from the sky, pecking the top of his head, aiming for his eyes. We were lucky he wasn't armed or we might have both died. We escaped with our lives but our pride was damaged. With a hand, he smacked Imperia as she swooped down on him. Free of distraction, he reached back and grabbed me by my tail (humans can be so indignant). Perhaps he would have done worse to me if the werewolf's howl had not shattered the silence of night. The rat-man-as-man released me and punted me with his foot. I growled even as I flew through the air, landing a number of feet away.

When I opened my eyes next, I was in the Groundskeeper's hut, laying in the dog - Fang's bed. Imperia was perched on the back of a chair, her head tucked under a wing, the other bandaged and slightly twisted.

"Finally awake, eh?" the Groundskeeper said, from somewhere I could not see. I tried to turn but my body protested movement. He stomped into view, kneeling down to meet my gaze. He smelled like the freedom I once knew, but also the home I now loved. I wished to ask him about my Hermione and the others, but I had no means of communicating with him. For the first time in my life, I wished I was human. … That was also the _lowest_ point in my life. "A lot happen'd las' night," the Groundskeeper said, getting to his feet again. "Yer both lucky t' be alive." He rummaged around and returned with something to eat. Honestly, it was unidentifiable, and in any other state, I would have turned my nose, but my body needed energy. So I ate. As he fed us, the Groundskeeper ("Hagrrrrrrrid" is what Fang called him) talked about some miraculous escape a Hippogriff had made, and I couldn't help but share in his joy – only because I had no desire coming face to face with a Hippogriff when I could barely turn over. After eating, I took another long nap. When I woke, Imperia had gone and the sun was setting. I stretched tentatively to test my strength and felt quite good. Whatever the Groundskeeper had done to mend my injuries, he had done well. Before leaving at the end of term, I expressed my gratitude and repaid his kindness with the gift of three dead rats ( _regular_ rats), eight birds (of varying varieties, and not all dead), and twenty-three caterpillars (all eaten and then regurgitated). Oh, and I chased away all the shrews terrorizing his vegetable garden as well.

Over the summer, I was displeased to see more of Imperia as she delivered letters from her human to my Hermione. She always has this air of self-importance when she makes a delivery – as if I couldn't deliver a piece of parchment. _Please_. I've just got better things to do. A coat of fur as lush as mine doesn't keep itself shining like the sun. Plus, my Hermione studies best when I'm on her lap, purring at a constant rate. If I left, her marks might suffer, and that would be unacceptable.

The frequency of letters increased (though Imperia remained just as insufferable) and I started to notice a change in my Hermione. Sometimes she would laugh to herself or smile at nothing. Several times she'd pick me up and dance around her room to music that played only in her head. Our talks became less about her studies and more about her friends, particularly Draco Malfoy, whom she often seemed perplexed by. Sometimes she'd confide in Ginny – another ginger beauty like myself, and Hermione's close friend. Even at school, the two would often sneak into each other's rooms and talk.

Most recently, my Hermione went missing – gone from the school for an entire night. I searched for her, even spoke to the owls and other pets in the castle; no one had seen her. I roamed the halls, calling for her and got chased back to the Gryffindor dormitory by Mrs Norris. I was sick with worry; I would _not_ lose another owner. News of her reached my ear in the most curious of ways: a toad named Trevor told me that Hermione had been returned to the castle along with her friends (one of them being his owner) and was now in the infirmary. Well, I wasted no time racing there, but I was barred from entering by a stern looking Witch.

"No animals in the hospital wing," she said firmly.

I begged to differ; I could smell Sirius Black from the entrance but of course he was in man form. So I waited outside the hospital wing. Waited for my Hermione.

As I sat waiting, an old man passed by on his way in and stopped to speak with me. "Your owner will be fine," he assured me with a smile.

' _I'll believe it when I see it, thank you,_ ' I replied.

"Of course. I would allow you entry, but the infirmary is the one place the school's Matron may contest the wishes of even the Headmaster. You have my apologies for that."

Slightly surprised he could understand me, I allowed myself a slight nod to acknowledge his words. ' _If you're Headmaster, you should keep a better eye on your students,_ ' I reprimanded.

"I will not disagree," he conceded, "however, two eyes are all I have. But you are not wrong, my good fellow." He winked at me before sweeping through the doors.

I waited for nearly another full day before Hermione emerged from the hospital wing. And I was pleased to be the first to greet her. I flew into her arms with a delighted meow.

"Crookshanks!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around me. "I'm so happy to see you. Were you worried?"

' _Of course I was, you silly girl,_ ' I answered despite knowing she couldn't understand me. But even as I gazed into her beautiful brown eyes, I thought maybe she just might. ' _Because you are my Hermione._ '


	31. Part 31

On the second last morning before summer, Imperia flew down to where Draco sat in the Great Hall, laughing over breakfast with his housemates. Untying the folded envelope from around her leg, Draco gently stroked her head before feeding her an apple slice. She ruffled her feathers in appreciation then launched herself into the air again, disappearing with other owls through an open window. The letter only had bad news though: Draco had tried to book himself a room at the Saint James in Paris, but without his parent's accompaniment, they would not board minors. Frustrated, he burned the letter, holding it over a small flame he ignited with his wand. His friends watched without saying anything and didn't bother to ask questions after.

"I'm going out for some air," he said, pushing back from the table. His eyes met Hermione's from across the room as he walked out, and he smiled. She smiled back, but didn't get up to follow – which was just as well. He needed to be alone. Draco was halfway across the Entrance Hall when someone called his name. It was Professor Snape. "What can I do for you, Professor?"

The Potions Master handed him a small card. "You have an appointment with the Headmaster," he said simply. "Do not be late." With a sweep of his long black robes, Professor Snape disappeared back down the corridor from which he came, leaving Draco. On the card was written two things: a time and the words ' _Apricot Macaron_ '. The young Slytherin recognized that the French confection was likely the password to get by the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, and tucked the card safely inside his pocket. Since he had a little time to kill, Draco returned to the Slytherin dormitory – but only to retrieve his broom and change into clothes suitable for flying. With so much going on and so much going to happen, he kind of wanted to escape and _not_ think, even if it was only for a while. Soon, he stood on the edge of the Quidditch Pitch: it was a perfect day for flying, blue skies and very little wind. The air was clearer and cooler high above the field. He rose higher than even the topmost ring of the goal posts; everything below looked so small, so insignificant – and he smiled. Taking a deep breath, he yelled as loud as he could, expelling all the air in his lungs. It didn't quite dissipate all the frustrations he carried, but he did feel better. He was about to take off for a round around the pitch when he saw something from the corner of his eye; perhaps, responding to the sound of his voice, Imperia soared toward him. She circled around him twice, clucking her beak as she did.

"Sorry about that," Draco apologized, reaching out with a hand toward his owl. He thought about how he used to fly with Imperia back home, how he owed her everything he knew about flight. "Want to go for a round?" he asked her. She dove in and expertly nipped his outstretched hand affectionately, then took off. With a smile, Draco followed.

* * *

Having lost track of time flying with Imperia, Draco barely had enough time to change back into his robes before his appointment with the Headmaster. He had no idea what the meeting was about, but he thought he might try asking Professor Dumbledore directly about staying at Hogwarts over the summer. Sure, Professor Snape had said it was impossible (and without even giving Draco a chance to plead his case), but surely the Headmaster of the school could make an exception. He passed the stone gargoyle and climbed the moving spiral stairs leading up to the large wooden door of the Headmaster's office. He had been there last year as well, near the end of his fourth year, and thinking back on it, it felt like a very long time ago. The Headmaster offered Draco tea again, and this time, he accepted.

"How are you?" Professor Dumbledore asked after they'd settled in.

It was an open-ended question designed for Draco to share whatever he'd like, however, all he answered was, "Fine, Professor. I suppose I could be better, but… I'm fine."

Bright blue-eyes sparkling behind his half-moon frames, Professor Dumbledore nodded once. "Professor Snape has shared with me your predicament of not having a place to return this summer."

"Yeah," Draco replied, feeling heavy inside again. "He said I can't stay at Hogwarts."

"That is correct."

"But Professor –"

The Headmaster raised a hand to silence Draco, but it was done with a kind smile. "I have taken everything into consideration and made arrangements for your summer lodging."

"Really? So I can stay at Hogwarts then?"

"No."

Draco waited for the Headmaster to continue, to elaborate on these arrangements, but after a long moment of silence – during which, the only thing the Professor did was drink more of his tea – the younger man realized Professor Dumbledore had no intention of telling him anything. "What am I supposed to do without any direction?" he grumbled, trying not to sound too disrespectful.

"Just do as you always do, Draco. Pack your things, attend the year-end feast, and celebrate with your friends. Then, board the Hogwarts Express, and take it all the way back to King's Cross Station in London. You will find, as soon as you arrive, exactly what your summer beholds."

Draco stared across the Headmaster's desk; he couldn't help but feel that Professor Dumbledore was enjoying being cryptic. They finished their tea without discussing anything else, but when Draco excused himself to leave, the Professor brought up one more matter.

"It has come to my attention," he said, rummaging around his desk a little. "That one of Hogwarts' House-Elves has resigned from her position with the school." The Headmaster held up a scrap piece of parchment, and scribbled on it – in an all too familiar handwriting – were the words, ' _Winky quits. Winky is working for Draco Malfoy._ '

"Professor… I'm – I'm so sorry," Draco apologized.

"Quite on the contrary, I should be thanking you. Winky has had a difficult time adjusting to life here at Hogwarts, and if she has found happiness through fair employment, I could not be more pleased to see her move on." He looked over Winky's letter of resignation fondly before placing it back on his desk. "Only a year ago, Draco, I had said that you hold a great deal of influence. I believe, I stand corrected. Even with my partial absence as Headmaster, your efforts and accomplishments this year have not gone unnoted."

Recalling his own words from their meeting the previous year, Draco said, once more, "It's still a great deal of pressure," though this time, his words came with a light chuckle.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "But while the weight of the war rests partly on your shoulders, this burden is not for you to carry alone. No person – no matter how great or powerful, can hold the weight of the world alone."

Though the words were different, Draco understood that Professor Dumbledore was imparting the same lesson as he had last year, but one year later, the message seemed much more clear. "Pack your things, Draco, and do not worry."

* * *

Stepping off the train with the rest of his friends, Draco realized – too late – that the Headmaster's directions had been vague at best. He looked around him, at the students and families milling about, gathering their things. He didn't see his mother or his father – or even his aunt, and he felt very lost.

"Hello there children," Mrs Weasley said, approaching their group. With her were Fred and George, looking more than pleased with themselves. Theodore had shared with Draco that, despite Professor Dumbledore's reinstatement, sales had not decreased. The mother of the Weasley brood took her time hugging each and every single one of them – including Draco, much to his surprise. "We should get going," she said, checking the time on her watch. "Fred, George: help with their things, please." She turned to Harry and smiled. "Arthur's outside with some of the others; we'd like to have a quick word with your Aunt and Uncle before you go."

"What about?" Harry asked, helping George lift his trunk onto a trolley. He appeared apprehensive about this conversation that was going to happen with his relatives, and Draco couldn't blame him; from everything he'd heard, the Dursleys despised all things Magic.

"Oh, never you mind, dear," Mrs Weasley replied, waving off the matter.

With no where else to go and no one else to follow (plus, his trunk had been loaded up with everyone else's things), Draco trailed behind the others, hand-in-hand with Hermione. In sets of two or three, the Stationmaster gave them the go ahead to cross through the barrier that led back into the Muggle World; King's Cross Station was just as busy on the other side as it had been on theirs, which made it fairly easy to blend in.

"There's dad!" Luna said cheerfully, waving at her father who, upon spotting her, started running forward. "Have a great summer," she said to the others as she heaved her trunk off the trolley. It landed heavily on the ground, but with a kick, wheels popped out from the bottom, and she rolled it away easily.

"Good luck with the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" Draco shouted, waving at the Ravenclaw. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a withering look. "What?" he said, unable to keep from smiling. "Come on. You have to admit it's endearing. And is it so bad to believe in things that don't actually exist?"

"Just because no one's ever found one doesn't mean they don't exist," Theodore remarked, nudging Draco from behind. "Have a good summer," he said as they shook hands. "Keep in touch." With a nod, Draco watched as his friend wheeled his trolley toward a young woman who was waiting for him.

"Is that Theo's mother?" Hermione asked. "I've never seen her before… Do you think she's –"

"Don't ask." Draco hadn't meant to be rude, but it wasn't his place to tell Hermione anything about Theodore's personal life. Hermione seemed to understand this from his expression and didn't press the matter. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him expectantly. With a smile, Draco leaned down and kissed her.

One by one, their friends left with their families until Draco was left standing with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the Twins.

"So what did the Headmaster tell you?" Ron asked again, looking around them at the Muggles rushing about.

"Told me not to worry," repeated Draco glumly. A ridiculous idea struck Draco, and for a moment, he panicked. "You don't think he's arranged for me to stay with a Muggle family, do you?"

"Don't be silly," Mrs Weasley said, joining them. "You're coming with us, of course."

Everyone except Harry gaped at Mrs Weasley in shock – Harry looked rather upset that Draco was going to spend the summer with the Weasleys while he had to return to his Aunt and Uncle's house.

"Are you serious?" asked Draco, his voice barely audible.

"Dumbledore approached us after – well, after everything that had happened. Thought it would be the best place for you to be since…" she trailed off, her expression growing sympathetic. With a sigh, she put her hands on Draco's shoulders. "Well, we certainly weren't going to say 'no' and leave you without anywhere to go, now were we, Arthur?" After having a word with the Dursleys, the Weasley patriarch now stood off to the side, watching them. He wouldn't meet Draco's eyes, and didn't look particularly happy. "Don't mind him, dear," Mrs Weasley said quickly. "He's got a lot on his plate at the moment. Now… Shall we?"

Feeling like he was being swept along by a strong current, Draco said goodbye to Harry, wishing him a good summer, then followed the Weasleys out to the car park. Falling back to walk beside him, Ron threw an arm around Draco's shoulders. "It's going to be a _good_ summer, mate."


	32. Part 32

On his first morning staying at the Burrow with the Weasleys, Draco woke early, before even the sun rose over the horizon. It had nothing to do with his accommodations, or even the general state of affairs of their world; he simply could not sleep. As quietly as he could, and without waking Ron – whose room he shared – Draco snuck out and made his way down the winding stairs to the main floor, where the kitchen was. He had never spent much time in the kitchen at home, but the Weasley's kitchen was very different. There was a warm ambience that Draco had never felt with the kitchen at Malfoy Manor; plus, it seemed there was always a delicious scent in the air. More often than not, Mrs Weasley was bustling about, her magic hard at work in a way his own mother could never handle. Despite this, he was still a little surprised to find the mother of seven awake and already working. Pots were on the stove, bubbling away quietly, spoons on the standby for stirring; knives chopped various ingredients that, with a flick of Mrs Weasley's wand, would move themselves elegantly into its designated pot.

"Oh, good morning, dear," she said, noticing Draco watching from the hallway. "Come in, come in. Have a seat. Would you like some cocoa or do you prefer tea? Perhaps coffee?"

"Cocoa, please," replied Draco. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd had a hot chocolate made at home. He supposed Dobby might have made him one when he was younger. With intrigue and rapt curiosity, he watched as Mrs Weasley moved a clean cutting board to an empty part of the counter; she placed a handful of dark chocolate on top and then, taking up a large kitchen knife, chopped the chocolate – by hand – into small pieces. Like a dance, milk flew out from the refrigerator and poured itself into a copper saucepan that had moved itself onto the stove. Mrs Weasley put the chocolate into the pot and started stirring – again, by hand. It was a sort of magic Draco had never seen, and when Mrs Weasley placed the mug of cocoa before him, with a smile just as warm, he thought he'd experienced something very fundamental that he had been deprived of all these years. "Thank you," he said, sure that his gray-eyes were glossy with awe. He tasted the cocoa: it was like nothing he'd ever had – not even at the finest cafés in Paris or anywhere else in London.

"I'm glad you like it," replied Mrs Weasley, though Draco had not said anything out loud. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron and carried on with making breakfast for her family. "I know this must be quite the adjustment to make," she continued with her back turned to Draco. "Your manor must be something – something really beautiful to behold."

"I think," Draco said quietly, staring into the dark liquid in his mug. "The kind of beauty that exists here, is greater. Not that I don't miss home, of course," he added, quickly.

"Of course, dear," Mrs Weasley agreed with a chuckle. "I'm sure your mother misses you very much."

It was hard for Draco to think of his parents. This separation was not something he would have ever imagined, and there was nothing to be done about it. He hoped it would not be for long – as lovely as the Burrow was – but he had no way of knowing if he'd ever return home, and to what home he may be returning to if he did. "It's too early to fret," Mrs Weasley chimed, interrupting Draco's thoughts. "You haven't even had breakfast yet; and sometimes, life's problems seem more manageable on a full stomach."

Until the others finally woke up and joined them in the kitchen, Draco watched, in silence, this amazing woman in her labour of love.

* * *

Later that morning, after Mr Weasley, Bill, Fred and George had all departed for their respective work, Ron brought Draco out to the back yard where they had been asked to de-gnome the garden and collect some vegetables. With zero experience dealing with gnomes, and only Ron's vague instructions to go on, Draco struggled to handle even one of those grubby creatures – much to Ron and Ginny's amusement.

"Want to trade?" Draco offered Ginny, who was tasked with collecting eggs from the chicken coop – a job Draco felt might be more pleasant than getting dirty digging up gnomes from their gnomeholes. Plus, they bit, which had caused Draco to abruptly drop the first gnome he had managed to catch.

"Oh, no," Ginny laughed from her spot on the back steps. "Besides, our chickens aren't familiar with you, and you'd be surprised at how vicious they can get if they think you're stealing their eggs."

"Fair enough." Draco wiped the sweat off his brow as he watched Ron launch a gnome over the property's hedge.

"That's six, for me," he said, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "You're still at… one, Malfoy?"

Draco frowned. "It got away," he admitted, muttering under his breath and averting his gaze. The Weasley siblings burst out in laughter, laughing so hard at Draco's expense, that tears were in their eyes.

"Guess we can't expect a pampered prince like yourself to know how to handle the common gnome. Plus, it's not nearly dangerous enough for Hagrid to teach us about 'em in class." He patted Draco's shoulder playfully, leaving more dirt on it than was present before, and smirked. "Well, after we've put you through the ranks of Weasley's De-Gnoming School, you'll be an expert."

"Wait," Draco said, realization dawning on him. "Why don't we just get Winky to do it?"

"That's cheating, Draco," Ginny chided, but Ron seemed to be seriously considering this.

"That's an interesting idea," he said, nodding his head in agreeance.

Draco summoned the house-elf, and she appeared before them, looking rather happy. "Winky has been waiting to be summoned," she squeaked, sounding as cheerful as she looked. "What can Winky do for Master?"

"Have you ever dealt with gnomes before, Winky?" Draco asked, a clever smile appearing on his face.

"No," Ginny insisted, getting to her feet. She walked over to the house-elf, and stooped over so that they were eye to eye. "Winky, I know you want to help –"

"This is Winky's job," the house-elf said excitedly, not realizing Ginny was trying to deter her from helping. "Winky is helping Master."

"No, Winky, what I mean is –"

With his knee, Ron knocked Ginny over. "Oh let her help us," he exclaimed impatiently. "It's what house-elves do. See here, Winky, we – that is, your Master and I – have to clear all the gnomes from this garden. Reckon you can help us with that?"

Winky nodded fervently. "Oh absolutely. Winky used to be keeping gnomes from Master Barty's garden as well. Winky is very good at dealing with gnomes." She cracked her long, spindly fingers in anticipation of the job.

It was a real treat to watch the house-elf work: Utilizing her special magic, Winky would locate a gnomehole and snap her fingers which, somehow, drew them out in an orderly line. One by one, as they emerged, she would stun them, leaving the creatures to be tossed into the distance by Draco and Ron, who were only too happy to see who could throw them further, in turns. With Winky's help, they made quick work of the gnomes, and were soon gathering vegetables from a gnome-free garden.

"Done already?" Mrs Weasley asked, opening the back door and stepping out with a load of freshly washed laundry.

"Oh, let me help you with that, Mrs Weasley," Draco offered. She seemed surprised by the gesture as the young man lifted the hamper out of her arms. "Winky…" The house-elf ambled up next to him and he dropped the load into her waiting arms.

"Who – who is this?" asked Mrs Weasley, staring at Winky.

"That's Draco's contractual house-elf," Ginny explained with a sigh. "She used to belong to the Crouch's but you know what happened there. Anyway, she's since signed a contract with Draco and quit Hogwarts. She helped the boys de-gnome the yard."

Mrs Weasley turned on her youngest son, eyes narrowed disapprovingly. "Ronald Weasley, that was _your_ job to complete."

"No one likes a tattle, Ginny," remarked Ron, giving his sister a scornful look. "It's fine, Mum. Winky loves this kind of stuff. Look: she's already got all the laundry up on the drying line."

It was true. Winky was good at what she did, and no one could deny she looked happy. She returned the now empty hamper to Mrs Weasley, placing it on the ground at her feet, then looked between her and Draco expectantly. "She could certainly lend you a hand around the house," Draco said, giving Mrs Weasley a smile. "I mean, she hasn't got anything else to do…" The house-elf bowed before Mrs Weasley, who let out a little gasp of surprise.

"I've never had a house-elf before," she murmured to herself, giving the elf a little curtsey in return, though Draco didn't know why.

"They live for housework and following orders," commented Draco. "Go on, Winky. You'll help Mrs Weasley, won't you?"

"It is Winky's pleasure," the house-elf replied, this time curtseying much like Mrs Weasley had.

"Well… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have another set of hands helping." She gave Draco a grateful smile. "Perhaps, Winky, you could bring the vegetables and eggs in for me?" The order was given tentatively, sounding more like a question than a command, but Winky was more than happy to oblige. She took the basket of vegetables from Ron and the eggs from Ginny, then returned to Mrs Weasley, who had picked up the laundry hamper. "Thank you," she said to the elf, which made Winky perk up. Clearly enthralled with each other, the two then disappeared back into the house.

* * *

With their only chores done early and out of the way, Ron suggested they practice their flying and Quidditch; despite a rather harrowing albeit short season as Gryffindor's Keeper, Ron still intended to try out for the team again. Ginny didn't mind since she was planning on trying out for Chaser, and Draco was sure to play Seeker again for his own house. Throughout their friendship, Draco had known Ron to be an avid Quidditch fan, but what he didn't know was the preparations he took before even getting on the broom.

"Proper broom maintenance is key," he lectured Draco as they sat under a tree, out in the large field behind the Burrow. Draco, who had always owned a top of the line racing broom, had never actually done any maintenance on it himself; once a year, before school began, it was usually sent out for servicing. Ron shook his head at this practice. "You get to _know_ your broom this way, build a better connection."

"Right," Draco agreed blandly, not wanting to argue with his friend's philosophy on broom ownership and bonding. His Nimbus 2001 lay across his lap as he watched Ron, who was testing the balance of his own Cleansweep Eleven.

"Now, I can do this by touch because I've years of practice knowing what to look for, but you might want to use the scale. What you want is your broom to be perfectly balanced as it affects the handling during flying." Ron retrieved an instrument from his Broom Servicing Kit (which was, Draco noticed, much more detailed and contained more things than Harry's). He helped Draco place his broom on it and read the dial measurements. "See," he said, though Draco didn't see at all. "Your handle is heavier than your tail; it tends to lead to over-maneuvering." The flying enthusiast turned his gaze onto Draco, his blue-eyes studying him instead. "Judging from your height and weight, adding to the tail would be best. I'd lend you some twigs, but the Cleansweep Eleven's Spanish Oak, while the Nimbus 2001 – like the Nimbus 2000 – is made of Mahogany. Mixing materials could throw the whole compatibility of the broom off."

Draco had no idea what Ron was saying, and he glanced at Ginny for help, but she merely shrugged before going back to polishing her own broom handle. Ron scribbled something onto a piece of parchment and handed it to Draco. "If you're up for it, you could do a half order of tail twigs, and have some leftover for emergencies."

"Thanks," Draco murmured, taking the note from Ron. "How do you know all of this?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Passion," answered Ron with a glowing smile. "We don't uhh, have a lot of money, and when you have to make due with hand-me-downs and leftovers, you at least try to make it at its best."

"Tell 'im about your dream, Ronald," Ginny chirped innocently, without looking up from her polishing.

Ron's face flushed and his ears turned red as he glared at his little sister, who ignored him. "What dream?" asked Draco. "Come on; tell me."

Despite his apparent embarrassment, Ron shared, "I've always wanted to build my own broom. But that was before Mum and Dad bought me my Cleansweep Eleven. It's the best broom I've ever had. I mean… it's no Nimbus or Firebolt, but…" Ron looked at his broom affectionately. "It's definitely the best."

"Build your own broom," Draco repeated slowly, his lips turning up into a half-smile.

"Shut it, Malfoy," snapped Ron.

"No! I'm – I'm not making fun of you. I think you should still do it."

Ron gave him a surprised look. "Really?"

Draco shrugged. "Why not? It's good to have dreams."

"Well, gents," Ginny interrupted, getting to her feet. She looked down on the boys with a condescending smile. "While you two have yourselves some pillow talk, I'm going to get some air time." She stepped a leg over her broom and kicked off the ground, soaring into the blue sky effortlessly.


	33. Part 33

Over the course of the summer, the Burrow filled up with company until it was bursting at its magical seams: Charlie – the second eldest of the Weasley children – came home for a visit, which partially overlapped with Fleur Delacour's stay. The French beauty and eldest Weasley had gotten engaged, and Bill wanted her to spend some time getting to know his family. With the addition of Hermione and Harry for the last few weeks of summer, people were nearly on top of each other. Draco had never seen any house-elf as happy as Winky when she worked alongside Mrs Weasley, who, in turn, seemed extremely grateful for the help. Hermione was, of course, pleased as well, but not without her concerns, namely the amount of pay Winky was receiving according to her contract with Draco. He'd tried to explain to his girlfriend that the house-elf hadn't wanted to be paid at all in the first place, but she seemed to think he could have tried harder. From time to time, others popped into the Burrow as well: Remus Lupin, in particular, visited frequently, as Molly Weasley had been tasked to brew Wolfsbane Potion for him. Nymphadora Tonks – who Draco learned, was his Aunt Andromeda's daughter and therefore his cousin – also dropped by often, mostly around mealtimes. Having never really grown up around any of his relatives, Draco was fascinated by the stories Nymphadora (or Tonks, as she preferred to go by) shared about their mothers, as well as her personal experience being disgraced and cast out from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"Mum never made a big deal of it," Tonks laughed, her violet hair turning a soft brown that was reminiscent of her mother's. As a Metamorphmagus, she could alter her appearances at will, and after spending more time with his cousin, Draco realized these changes were often based on her mood. Her dark eyes glimmered with the reflection of the flickering fire dancing in the hearth; her laughter subsided, turning into a gentle smile on her lips. "But that fundamental importance of family – Draco knows what I mean – it never left her, and it hurt her deeply that she should have to choose between the family she was born into and the family she wanted. But Mum's not the kind to listen to others, so while the Blacks _think_ they cut her out when she married Dad, she never really let go. She kept in touch with your mother and Aunt Bellatrix – although Auntie Bell didn't respond nearly as well. She even kept tabs on Sirius when he graduated Hogwarts."

"Sirius told me Andromeda was the only person to visit his mother on her death bed – which was possibly the best and worst insult," Remus added with a weak smile. He held in front of him a goblet of Wolfsbane Potion, which he had been staring at for at least a quarter of an hour. Mrs Weasley had apologized over and over again that she was not nearly skilled enough to experiment with the taste.

"Perhaps it's something Professor Slughorn can look into when you all return to Hogwarts," Mrs Weasley commented, taking Remus's goblet when he finally emptied it.

"Yes, how is that working again?" Hermione asked for probably the seventeenth time. Upon Harry's arrival at the Burrow, he'd shared the little adventure he'd had with Professor Dumbledore in convincing Horace Slughorn to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts once again, but Draco couldn't help but wonder what this meant for Professor Snape. He'd asked about _this_ about seventeen times himself, but no one offered _either_ of them a proper answer.

"There are going to be a lot of changes to the teaching staff this coming year," Remus said after chasing his Wolfsbane Potion with an amber-coloured beverage that he clearly enjoyed much more. "And before you bombard me with questions, may I remind you that I don't know anymore than that. I am not a teacher myself, and the only reason why I have any idea at all is because I've been keeping my comatose friend company while he remains under the care of Madam Pomfrey."

"Still no change with Sirius?" Harry asked glumly, though he already knew the answer. He asked every member of the Order every time they stopped by the Burrow, but the answer was always the same. Remus shook his head slowly as he stared into the glass in his hands; he swirled its contents methodically before raising it to his lips.

"No worries, Harry," Tonks said with an encouraging smile. Her eyes darted to Remus after saying this, the latter returning her smile with a flash of exasperation. The woman's smile turned a bit awkward and she looked away, saying, "I think I'll go see if Molly needs any help with dinner."

* * *

After supper, as the sun was setting, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Fred, and George, went for a walk along the protected property on which the Burrow stood, and it was during this short time of privacy that Harry shared the prophecy with them.

" _And either must die_ ," Ginny repeated, furrowing her brow.

"… _At the hand of the other_ ," George continued, looking the most serious Draco had ever seen him before.

Despite the warm glow of the setting summer sun, the revelation of the prophecy brought a coolness to the air around them. "That means," Ron said, his face noticeably pale, "that you'll have to fight You-Know-Who, Harry."

"And win," added Fred grimly.

"So what," Hermione remarked loudly, surprising everyone. "The Prophecy doesn't tell us anything we didn't already know; we always knew it would come down to Voldemort being vanquished, didn't we? So now Harry's the one to do it." She paused a moment to sigh irritably.

"Hermione, we're talking about the baddest Dark Wizard of our time," Ron said slowly.

The brunette Witch turned on her friend sharply. "You think I don't know that?" Her eyes, though stern and steely, were also scared.

"Okay," said Draco, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the group. "What do we do then?"

"It's obvious," Hermione answered, her expression grateful.

"Of course, you've got a plan," muttered Ron, rolling his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest, a teasing sort of smile on his face. "Alright, let's have it, Granger."

"It's simple, really: Harry needs a good, solid education."

Fred and George nearly laughed out loud, while Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Books aren't everything, Hermione," Ron retorted with a deep frown.

"Well, no, Hermione's right, isn't she? Harry's got to get better at magic to go against the Dark Lord. If it really does come down to a duel," Draco agreed in a roundabout way. "Although," he added, with a bit of a smirk. "I doubt even the Dark Lord could stand a hard punch to the face."

Harry laughed. "One of the very few perks of growing up with Dudley and his gang; you learn to fight even without magic." The smile on his face quickly faded, and the green in his eyes deepened very seriously. "Listen: The reason I wanted you guys to know the truth was, well, so you knew, but I don't want any of you involved –"

"A bit late for that, eh?" Fred quipped.

"No, what I mean is –"

"Freddie's right, mate," added George, throwing a strong arm around Harry's shoulders. "The reason you told us and the reason we won't leave you alone is the same: We're family." With wide smiles on their faces, George and Fred grappled Harry into a rough sort of hug; Ron joined in with a laugh, then Hermione, and Ginny. Before he could even think about it, one of the twins reached out and pulled Draco into the embrace.

* * *

They celebrated Harry's sixteenth birthday at the Burrow – a happy occasion that was marred by news of growing unrest in the Wizarding community. Unsurprisingly, the Hogwarts students were not allowed to go to Diagon Alley that summer; their school supplies were to be picked up and delivered to the Burrow by a member of the Order – and only after each item had been thoroughly inspected.

"Can you imagine You-Know-Who hexing a quill or something, and trying to get it into your hands?" Ron joked as they went through their new, definitely-safe supplies. Hermione had already immersed herself in her Arithmancy textbook as the others sorted through the mountain of books, parchment, and other things, slowly putting them away into their trunks without a serious look.

"Well, _I_ can," Ginny remarked pointedly.

"I didn't mean it like that, Gin," Ron said quickly, looking apologetic. "But that was different, wasn't it? It's not like You-Know-Who has things like that just floating around, ready to…" he stopped talking as his sister's expression darkened. Draco had only ever heard the story in bits and pieces from Hermione, but he knew Ginny didn't like to talk about her experience with Tom Riddle's diary. Honestly, it made perfect sense to him that the Order would take precautions; safety and security were not things they could expect anymore, and trust was a luxury they were increasingly unable to afford.

"You aren't taking Potions?" Draco asked, noticing that neither Harry nor Ron had a textbook for the subject among their things.

Ron shook his head enthusiastically for the both of them. "Snape requires an 'Outstanding' to continue in Potions for sixth and seventh year, and we only got 'Exceeds Expectations' – not that either of us really mind."

"But Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, looking up from her textbook for the first time since she started. "You can't be an Auror without Potions!"

Looking sheepish, Harry put a hand through his messy, black hair. "Yeah, I know, but… Well, I'll think of something."

"Well, if Harry manages to defeat Voldemort – which is really the only way any of us are going to have futures and careers – then I'm pretty sure they'll let him be an Auror without Potions," commented Ginny, sounding perfectly pragmatic. He smiled at her appreciatively.

"I guess if we learn anything dead useful, we can always teach you," Draco thought out loud, catching Hermione's eye. She returned his gaze, looking reluctant, but considering how she was the one who had insisted Harry get a good education, she couldn't exactly refuse.

"Fine," she conceded, falling back into her reading.

"It's not cheating or anything if we're not even studying the subject," Ron added, knowing the exact reasoning behind Hermione's reluctance. "But we all know you're willing to bend the rules if it's to help." Ron's blue-eyes darted mischievously between Hermione, Harry, and Draco – which was all it took to remind them of their illegal encounter with Polyjuice Potion in their second-year, and how Draco had been tricked by them.

"I meant we would teach Potter," Draco clarified spitefully. "Although," he added as an afterthought, "If Slughorn takes over Potions for Professor Snape, I wonder if he'll be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." It was no secret that Professor Snape had an interest in that subject and had tried several times to be hired into that position.

Hermione dropped her book and looked severely at Draco. "No, I don't think Dumbledore would allow that. The lure of Dark Arts would be too strong."

"Maybe Snape and Slughorn will both teach Potions," offered Ginny. "Like how Trelawney and Firenze both teach Divination. And maybe, if that's the case, Slughorn will accept a student who's scored less than 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L.s."

"Well, I suppose there's a possibility for that," said Harry slowly, exchanging glances with Ron, who rolled his eyes. "But for now, we'll just leave it off the list. Besides, I might not have time: I'm supposed to be taking private lessons with Dumbledore this year."

"Will you be continuing with Occlumency?" inquired Hermione, showing great interest. "I think they'd go much better with Dumbledore than they did with Snape – and you certainly need to –"

"I'm not entirely sure what I'll be learning, Hermione," Harry interrupted, his voice a little strained. Occlumency had been a touchy subject for him, especially after what had happened at the Department of Mysteries. He had made it clear that he understood this weakness – and had apologized profusely after the incident as well as throughout most of their time together that summer, until the others made him promise not to anymore. "Anyway, I imagine whatever Dumbledore will be teaching me will help me fight against Voldemort."

The group fell silent. The reality that Harry Potter, at the age of sixteen, was being groomed for a battle to the death against one of history's most sinister Wizards seemed beyond ridiculous, and even without the prophecy, it was obvious that this eventuality could not be avoided. And they were running out of time.

"Umm," Draco said, so quietly, the sound caught in his throat. He coughed once and started again. "Potter, I know you said you didn't want any of us involved but… something Professor Dumbledore told me before the end of term was that no single person can hold the weight of the world alone. I know it has to be you but, up until that point, we can help." For a short while, no one said anything, which made Draco feel extremely self-conscious. He was about to add something to ease the tension when Ron exhaled loudly.

"Isn't that obvious?" he remarked with a smile. He got to his feet and looked over the others. "Now, I know you're maybe not used to it, Malfoy, but from here on out, we work together."


	34. Part 34

The rest of summer passed by rather insignificantly, and before Draco and his friends knew it, they were back on Platform 9¾ at King's Cross Station, ready to board the Hogwarts Express for another year of school. While Professor Dumbledore had been kind enough to allow Winky to return to Hogwarts to accompany Draco during the school year, Draco decided to leave Winky with the Weasleys. He intended for her to relay information about things happening with the Order at the Burrow – even if he and the others were not meant to know.

The long ride to Hogwarts was uneventful. Draco still had Prefect duties, as did Ron and Hermione – as well as Luna and Ginny, who had joined the ranks as Prefects in their fifth year – so part of their travel time was spent patrolling the corridor and keeping the students in line. He had not been looking forward to working with Pansy again, but she was unexpectedly subdued. She barely looked at Draco and never said a word; the lack of interaction made things less awkward between them, almost as if she wasn't there.

When the train finally pulled in at Hogsmeade Station, Draco noted the heightened security: Aurors stood guard around the platform and exits. Sporting bright purple hair, Tonks was counted among these sentries and confided that she was currently stationed at Hogsmeade, grumbling that she hadn't been offered one of the "better" positions. Draco learned exactly what she meant at the Start-of-Term Feast, when the full line-up of teachers was presented, taking their seats at the head table in the Great Hall. Their numbers had definitely increased, though Draco couldn't even begin to guess who would be teaching what – he was far too distracted by _who_ the new teachers actually were: along with the addition of Slughorn, Charlie Weasley sat between Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall; his older brother, Bill sat a few seats down, next to Remus Lupin; on the other side of Bill sat Fleur – who had drawn the eyes of just about every male student in the Great Hall.

"Do you think Lupin will be taking up his old position teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Theodore asked, nodding up at the staff table.

Draco shook his head slowly. "Honestly, I've no idea," he answered irritably. The man had outright denied being a teacher on several occasions, and yet, there he was. In fact, the surprise of seeing all these people he had spent a considerable amount of time with over the summer now at Hogwarts aggravated Draco for the simple reason that if he hadn't anticipated this much from the Order, what hope did they have in predicting what the Dark Lord might be planning? Their focus had been on enhancing Harry's fighting power – which wasn't wrong, but it was an incomplete strategy, and as the only Slytherin of the group, he felt responsible for this oversight. Yes: Hermione was smart, but she didn't strategize so much as 'lesson plan'; plus, she was a bit innocent, always seeing things from the angle of good rather than necessary, and as much as he admired her for this, it was a fatal flaw.

Their curiosity was satiated when the Headmaster stood up at the end of the Feast to address the student body and introduce the staff. He raised his hands to quiet the crowd, and Draco noticed that the right one was blackened and dead-looking – and he wasn't the only one; a wave of murmurs rippled through the hall, some of the less tactful students making gestures and pointing. With a shake of his arm, the purple-and-gold sleeve of Professor Dumbledore's robe fell over his injury so that it was blocked from sight. He made some announcements – like how there was a blanket ban on any products purchased from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and any students interested in playing Quidditch should submit their name to their Head of House, then promptly moved onto staff introductions.

"We are pleased to welcome several new members of staff this year," Dumbledore said, his smile widening as his blue-eyes looked over the crowd. "Professor Slughorn is a former colleague who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions Master."

Another wave of hushed comments filled the room, and the Headmaster had to raise his hand once more, commanding quiet. "He will be teaching the Sixth and Seventh year students, while Professor Snape will continue to teach First through Fifth year students." At the staff table, Professor Slughorn waved genially while Professor Snape remained stoic. The next to be introduced was Charlie Weasley: he would be working with Madam Hooch as a flying instructor for First years, and refereeing Quidditch matches. Fleur was partnering with Professor Vector to teach Arithmancy, and would also be leading a weekly workshop on learning the French language. Bill would be teaching History of Magic alongside Professor Binns. Remus Lupin was not – as many students had suspected (and probably hoped) – reinstated as professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts; he would instead be assisting Hagrid as Groundskeeper, which left the teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts vacant.

"Perhaps," Theodore mused as the Slytherins walked slowly to their dormitory in the dungeons, "the Headmaster will take that position on himself this year."

"Y-you think?" Vincent Crabbe asked, sounding startled. Draco had noticed that his friend seemed a bit distant during the Feast, and took this opportunity to inquire further.

"Everything okay, Vin?" he asked.

"Yeah," the other boy answered glumly. "Well, no."

Once in the common room area, they took the couches by the fireplace, after chasing out a few younger students who had been sitting there just before. Over the summer, Draco had tried to keep in touch with his Slytherin contemporaries, but due to the nature of where he was staying as well as many other factors, this was not as easy as he had hoped. Imperia had not been happy to step aside to common post owls vetted by the Order (and Crookshanks), but she was a bit too magnificent to be flying around unnoticed. Even then, it was difficult to communicate with the sons of Death Eaters, and Draco suspected many of his letters were withheld going out as well as coming in. Meeting back at Hogwarts would be the first chance they had to talk since parting before the summer – and there was a lot to discuss.

"What's up," Theodore asked Vincent after everyone had taken a seat.

Vincent shifted uncomfortably, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to overhear before quietly answering, "I – I think I'm in love."

"Really?" Blaise said, looking proud. "Blimey, Crabbe, it's about time. We're sixteen now, you know."

"Age has nothing to do with it," Theodore defended coldly.

Blaise shrugged, as if this were the one thing the clever Theodore Nott knew nothing about. "Well, tell us about her," he prompted, turning the attention back to Vincent.

"She's older," Vincent said slowly, his gaze rising and falling. "Like, not a Hogwarts student."

Gregory Goyle's eyes grew as large as saucers while Blaise whistled approvingly. Theodore rolled his eyes, and Draco couldn't help but smile; he was – if it was true – impressed. "You know what guys, I don't want to talk about it. Not… Not now. Sorry."

Blaise seemed disappointed, but Draco clapped him on the back supportively. "Well, whenever you do want to talk about it, we're here – to listen and to help." Vincent seemed genuinely relieved to hear this and smiled weakly. He then excused himself and disappeared down the hall that led to the rooms.

"Ah: I never got the chance to tell you about the Slug Club," said Blaise, sitting forward in his seat. When the remaining boys asked what the 'Slug Club' was, Blaise explained: "It's like a networking group of students hand-picked by Professor Slughorn – people from good families or he sees potential in. He had invitations delivered to us on the train and gathered us all into a carriage to mingle."

"Who else was there?" Gregory asked curiously.

Blaise listed a bunch of names Draco knew, but no one he was particularly familiar with – until he said 'Ginny Weasley'. "And Potter, of course," he concluded. "But that's no surprise. Going to save the world, ain't he?"

"That depends on what 'saving the world' means to you," Theodore replied blandly. He got to his feet and smiled down at his friends. "I'm heading off. Classes in the morning." His eyes met Draco's momentarily, and he added, "We'll talk more tomorrow."

* * *

The next morning, the whole school was a-buzz with excitement for the start of the new school term: the corridors were packed with students well before classes started, catching up and sharing tales of their summer activities. But, it seemed, wherever Draco went, the chattering quieted to a hush, and people stared as he passed. He quickly understood this was due to his association with Harry (who was front-page news these days) and his being at the Department of Mysteries that night.

"What're you gawking at?" Gregory growled at a couple of second-year girls he'd caught giggling and pointing at his friend, causing them both to squeak nervously.

"Get on with it," Vincent snapped on the other side of Draco, making an aggressive gesture at a small band of loitering fourth-years.

"Just ignore them," said Theodore, casting this same group a dismissive look. Draco couldn't tell if he was genuinely irritated on his behalf or simply feeling inconvenienced being with him. Either way, and to his credit, Theodore didn't abandon him – to which Draco was extremely grateful.

Things only got worse when the group of Slytherins met the Gryffindors in the Entrance Hall. All the students gathered there gave them their attention, and as their collective bated curiosity reached a boiling point, the hall exploded in deafening chatter. People shouted over each other, quoting lines from the _Daily Prophet_ , asking questions, and making wild speculations. One Ravenclaw girl actually had the gall to approach Harry for a signature. Ginny made quick work of her though, and Luna deducted house points.

"This is insane," Dean Thomas shouted, grimacing after a seventh-year Hufflepuff girl accidentally elbowed him in the ribs trying to get closer to Harry. Things were getting so out of hand, Draco couldn't even make his way to Hermione's side.

"Harry, is it true that you survived yet _another_ encounter with You-Know-Who?" someone screamed right into Draco's ear.

"Bloody incredible!" another exclaimed even without Harry saying anything.

Draco was about to reach for his wand when a voice louder than all the others rang over them. " _What_ is ze big commotion, hmm?" Fleur Delacour demanded. She was standing in the doorway to the Great Hall, her delicate arms folded across her chest, her eyes cold and dangerous. Instead of the standard robe professors typically wore, Fleur was in a pretty dress, with a poofy skirt that shimmered in the morning light. Her Veela powers must have been at full-strength as she drew even the attention of the girls, commanding everyone into silence with her beauty. Bill appeared moments after behind her, though no one likely noticed him.

"Come on kids," he said to the students with a wry smile. "It's time for breakfast." But when no one moved, Fleur tilted her head – causing her long, silvery-blonde hair to cascade over her shoulder – and sighed audibly. "Well: _Aller_! Move!" Most students were still in a daze as they filed into the Great Hall, some getting an encouraging shove from Bill when they stopped to stare at his fiancée. Whether the Headmaster had hired Fleur for this talent, Draco couldn't be sure, but he thought it was a nice bonus. " _Bonjour_ , 'Arry," she said when their group approached, her hard expression melting into a charming smile. She kissed him on both cheeks before moving on to give Hermione a hug. "Eet is an eempossible burden, isn't it, 'Arry? Being popular."

"That's enough, darling," Bill laughed, putting his hands on Fleur's shoulders. "Harry's fine. People just need to calm down – give them some time and they won't even notice him past all the readings and homework they'll be getting."

"Will you and Professor Binns be teaching different years like Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn?" Hermione asked Bill quickly.

"Actually, we'll be alternating classes. Old Professor Binns is er, pretty stuck to his usual curriculum, but Dumbledore wants to review more relevant historical events – like the Wizarding Wars."

Never had Draco been excited for History of Magic, not with Professor Binns, who was _still_ teaching the subject even after dying – as a ghost; but Bill's news actually made him look forward to the upcoming lessons. With a wink, _Professor_ Weasley took Fleur's hand and walked away.

The first class of the new term for the Slytherin Sixth Years was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Rather than waste their time and breath wondering who their instructor would be, they decided to sit quietly and wait. Time ticked away until fifteen minutes into the lesson had passed, and still, no one appeared.

"You don't think Dumbledore seriously forgot to hire a professor?" Millicent Bulstrode asked, turning in her seat so she could see Pansy and Daphne, who were sitting one desk behind. Just then, the door handle turned and someone pushed open the door with their foot.

The man who walked in was tall and well-built; he wore a casual, slightly sardonic expression on his handsome face as he finally turned toward his class. The girls were immediately drawn to him in the same way Fleur attracted the attention of males. Also like Fleur, he wasn't wearing his teachers robes but rather a simple three-piece suit made of what Draco recognized as an expensive wool; he wore no tie, and the top button of his shirt was unclasped. Throwing a few books onto the desk at the front of the room, and his blazer over these, Sirius Black ran a hand through his now short-cut hair and sighed. "Right," he began, looking bored already. "It appears I'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hopefully no one saw that coming. Also, I don't speak French, so...**


	35. Part 35

Draco hadn't recognized Sirius Black at first, and was shocked at how different he looked now; when he had first met the man, Azkaban had taken its toll on him, just as it had on his Aunt Bellatrix, leaving Sirius gaunt and wraith-like. Even before the summer, when he had showed up at the Department of Mysteries, his appearance was ragtag, his aristocratic features hidden behind overgrown and messy hair; his face was unshaven, and the clothes he wore were old and dirty. But thinking on when he had seen him last, Draco remembered that Sirius had been unconscious – _for weeks_. He wondered if even Harry or the others knew he was in fact, awake, well, and one of Hogwarts newest teachers; he wondered how long Remus and the rest of the Order had been lying to them. Even though Sirius had yet to really begin their lesson, Draco moved to raise his hand (feeling rather like Hermione must) – he felt that he and his friends had been slighted; they had worried over Sirius the whole summer, after all – but was surprised to find his body unresponsively immobile. Up at the front of the room, Sirius smiled at Draco, his expression telling him that now was neither the time nor the place to discuss the things he wanted to ask. The new professor turned, and Draco saw only then, that his wand was held lithely in his hand, barely noticeable, but he had not seen so much as a flick to enact the spell he'd cast on Draco.

"First lesson in Defense against anything is to expect everything – consider everything, and in order to do that, you must _know_ everything." His eyes were still on Draco, and the smile on his face twisted slightly as if he were really enjoying the younger man's discomfort at learning the lesson first hand – even if it was just between the two of them.

"That's a bit unreasonable, isn't it?" Blaise remarked irritably. "There's no way we can know _everything_. Even in a familiar situation, there are too many unpredictable variables."

Sirius now turned his attention to Blaise, and studied him a moment before replying. "You should pay closer attention to your surroundings, Zabini. Do you think your mother managed all those marriages because she didn't know everything there was to know in order to make them happen?" Draco had never seen his friend so angry, but Blaise could say nothing in return. "Besides, all variables – even the most seemingly unpredictable – follow a pattern. You just have to know how to read them. Nature has rules, and people are creatures of habit." Sirius pulled a piece of parchment from one of the books he'd thrown onto his desk and looked it over. "Slytherins," he muttered to himself with a cynical look.

"Professor…"

"Black," Sirius finished for the student without looking up. "Sirius Black, for those of you who haven't figured it out yet."

Judging from the change in expression on some of the other student's faces, it was obvious some of them _hadn't_ realized who their new professor was until that moment. With quick glances here and there, Draco tried to guess what the others might be thinking: Sirius Black had been, before the summer, still on the run – a wanted man, but Professor Dumbledore had since vouched for him and all the charges against him dropped. "And," he continued, his gray-eyes twinkling mischievously. "If you don't want to call me 'professor', you may address me as 'Lord Black' – because when it comes to blood purity, mine is still richer than any of yours."

"It counts for naught if you're a blood traitor," Daphne Greengrass argued with disgust.

At first, Sirius did not respond, but he regarded the student without bothering to mask his disdain, which seemed far greater than the contempt she had for him. Perhaps it was his good looks, or the fact that he was older, or maybe it was simply the superiority his presence exuded over her, but Daphne quickly dropped her stare. "If you don't want to take the class, you're welcome to leave. That goes for any other student," Sirius said plainly. "But as I will be teaching you to fight for your life, and the lives of your loved ones – and, conversely… well, Dumbledore doesn't want me to use the word "kill", so we'll go with: how to give your enemy a run for theirs – you'd better be bloody sure before you walk out that door, because there will be no getting back in."

The class grew uncomfortably quiet, and even Daphne, who sat scowling at the surface of her desk, didn't dare move. After the silence had become sufficiently awkward (Sirius making no attempt to break the tension), Theodore raised his hand. "Professor Black," he began, his tone as plain as Sirius's had been. "Does the Headmaster not have any reservations in teaching us Slytherins the same curriculum as the rest of the school – considering our increased proclivity to the Dark Arts and Pure Blood Elitism?"

"You already know well that the Headmaster intends to treat every student equally. He's a good man, like that. The way I see it, however, is that, it's not much fun, if the other side doesn't at least put up a fight." In a sudden change of pace, Sirius flipped his wand up, catching it in his hand at the ready. "Alright, enough talk," he said, a smile once again on his face. "Let's see what you kids can do."

It was simple: each student would face off against Sirius, the goal, to turn the other person's hair a bright, neon green. The students were allowed a total of three additional spells to aid them in this task, while Sirius was only allowed the one. While the order appeared random at first, it became clear about halfway through to Draco that this was also part of the test; Sirius wanted to see what each successive student would learn from the previous. Theodore was the last to go, which was a clear indication that Sirius considered him to be the most talented among them. Theodore was one of the few Slytherins who had mastered wordless spells, giving him that advantage – though, as a now green-haired Draco had proven before him, it was not nearly enough to best their professor. Sirius waited patiently as Theodore removed his robe, handing it to Gregory who stood off to the side with his other green-haired classmates.

The student took a moment before raising his wand. He was almost as tall as Sirius, though much thinner, and there was an awkwardness about him that he would likely never grow out of. But despite his youthful appearance, there was a determination in Theodore's eyes that even their professor seemed to take seriously. Most noticeable though, was the air about the classroom as Theodore got ready to go head-to-head with Sirius: all the other students were behind him; even without words, their encouragement was evident in their body language; it was written on their faces. The Slytherins were unified.

Unlike a formal duel, there was no bowing to your opponent. As soon as Theodore was ready, he was allowed to cast his first spell, but he turned his wand not toward Sirius, but rather, on himself.

"Ha!" Sirius laughed, zinging the colour charm at Theodore and effectively interrupting his attempted Disillusionment Charm. "Good idea, Nott, but I won't give you the chance." Probably suspecting as much, Theodore retaliated with a rebounding shield charm where he could direct the trajectory of the repelled spell. This forced Sirius to dodge with a chuckle, though he fired several more spells at Theodore, controlling his path of movement. Now he was steps away from the corner of the classroom, with no where to run. The Slytherin student's eyes traced the room, taking in the position of every object and student within its walls; he cast the colour charm hoping to make a breakaway but Sirius merely ducked around them, charging forward. Using a levitation spell, Theodore launched a desk at Sirius – but now he only had one additional spell left. Turning quickly, Theodore pointed his wand at Blaise and shouted, " _Imperio!_ " Blaise's eyes became unfocused but his body jumped into action, gripping his wand and running forward to join the fight.

For the first time since the activity had begun, Sirius looked impressed, though in a dark way. Blaise's hair had already been turned neon green, so it didn't matter that Sirius's spells hit him. It seemed like Theodore might actually win, casting a variety of spells through Blaise (and thus, staying within the parameters of the test), when Sirius physically kicked a desk into Blaise's path, causing Theodore to have to change his friend's course or risk injury. But the distraction was all Sirius needed to rush forward and knock Theodore's wand out of his hand; it clattered across the floor far out of reach. "Takes a bit of practice, that Imperius Curse," he remarked smugly. "Beginners lack a fluidity between their own actions and the actions of those they're controlling. But that was a gutsy move," he added with an approving nod. Draco had a sense that Sirius was praising Theodore for prioritizing his friend's safety above personal victory, rather than his use of the Imperius Curse. The smirk on Sirius's face widened and he pointed his wand at Theodore. " _Crinus Muto Verde._ "

* * *

The Slytherins would learn shortly after class that Sirius had not been entirely truthful about the nature of their test: Not only had he turned their hair neon green, but he had woven in a spell of secrecy that prevented them from divulging any information about the class; anytime anyone tried to share anything about their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, they would break out into a verse of some Muggle song. And, if there were more than one of them together, the spell would cause them to automatically harmonize.

As the Slytherins exited the classroom, the waiting sixth-year Gryffindors burst into laughter; even Hermione was in tears to see Draco and the others with acid green hair.

"Dunno who's teaching, but I like 'em already!" Ron guffawed, doubling over.

"Just you wait, Weasley," Blaise remarked, elbowing past him roughly.

"Oh come now," Hermione soothed, trying to hold back her laughter. But Draco glowered still, even as she brushed a hand through his hair. "We're not making fun of _you_ , but it's funny."

"You won't think it's so funny when –" Draco looked back into the classroom and was surprised to see that it was empty; Sirius had disappeared. "Hey," he exclaimed, half-turning on the spot. "Where did –" but the remainder of his sentence was replaced by song, and with the rest of the Slytherins in close proximity, it was like an impromptu performance that brought every student passing through the corridor to their knees in laughter.

By lunchtime, the hallways of the castle were noticeably more colourful as students of varying years and houses walked about with vibrant hair in the most unnatural of hues. Some didn't seem to mind as much as others; Draco had met Luna on the stairs, her usual long blonde hair now a vibrant blue. She seemed to rather enjoy the change though, having conjured herself a headband of dangling silver stars to match. But Draco's greatest consolation came after lunch, when the Slytherins were reunited with the Gryffindors for Potions, and he watched with vindictive pleasure as every single one of them filed into the dungeon with vivid magenta hair. Ron had made the mistake of wanting to harp on their newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor only to result in the rest of his housemates joining him for a particularly spirited number.

"I thought you two weren't going to take Potions," Draco commented, after the Gryffindors had fallen into an angry silence, glaring at Ron as they set up their cauldrons.

"McGonagall says Slughorn only requires an 'Exceeds Expectations' to continue for N.E.W.T.s," Ron explained, his face still deep crimson from embarrassment (and likely self-loathing). He and Harry, who were sharing a station, were given supplies found in the cupboards of the classroom to use until they could acquire their own equipment, including two rusty cauldrons, and a set of tarnished scales they would have to share. Professor Slughorn loaned them each an old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage, though the texts appeared older than they were.

Though Professor Slughorn's style of teaching was very different than Professor Snape's, Draco had to admit he still enjoyed the lesson, though without the favour of their former professor, Draco and the other Slytherins had to put a bit more effort into their work. Just as Sirius had given the students a practical challenge, Professor Slughorn presented them the opportunity to win a vial of Felix Felicis – or Liquid Luck; enough for one perfect day. Draco had been expecting Hermione to win, but to his – and everyone else's surprise, it was Harry who claimed the prize.

"How do you suppose Potter won?" Draco asked Theodore as they settled down in the common room during one of their free periods. "I mean, he's never been any good at Potions." Their other friends had continued with classes they had opted out of, thus leaving them some time to start the mountain of homework they had already been assigned. But for once, Theodore didn't seem to be in the mood to do work. He sat back in his chair, watching a small group of seventh years playing a game of cards. When someone walked by, he was jolted from his reverie; he glared at Pansy, who had accidentally dropped a few of her books on her way out. She was alone – though that wasn't unusual these days – and as she met the eyes of the two boys, Draco noticed she tugged obsessively at the sleeves of her robe. After she left, and it was just the two of them again, Draco leaned forward. "Did you see that?" he asked. "The way Pansy was –"

But Theodore interrupted him, looking much more serious than even Draco was feeling. "Draco: I need to tell you something."


	36. Part 36

Theodore Nott was a boy who was born into extreme privilege and prestige. The wealth of his family – like many other old Wizarding families – was comparable to royalty; they owned a grand home, situated on an expansive estate; they employed a large number of staff, not including their house-elves, all of whom looked after every aspect of the household, ensuring the Master and Mistress need not think nor worry about anything. When Theodore was born, his parents were already along in years, and his mother – Catherine – unfortunately passed shortly after his birth, having never fully recovered from the physical demands of childbearing. Theodore was, therefore, raised by nannies – and he had many, as it was not the nature of the world for an aristocratic man as affluent and distinguished as Theodore's father to remain unaccompanied. As Theodore got older, his governesses changed as frequently as his nannies had when he was an infant. The head of their household, and head butler – a man named Burgess, who had served the Nott Family for longer than Theodore had been alive – was the one who looked after the staff; he hired them, fired them, and altered their memories as necessary before seeing them off the estate. But even Burgess couldn't stop the rumors. So he went outside the Wizarding working-class community and started to hire Muggles. They held small roles, carrying out the labour of menial tasks; they were also housed separately from the rest of the staff, and kept far away from Theodore. But from a very young age, Theodore had been curiously observant, and noticed, without being informed, many things. He often tiptoed his way around the manor to watch these curious people who worked with their hands rather than wands, who sometimes took three times longer to complete their duties as it would a witch or wizard. Through his observing the work habits and social dynamics of the house-staff, was Theodore's impression of Muggles formed: they were simply inferior.

…Except perhaps, in one crude way: Theodore's father, didn't seem to mind whether a woman could use magic or not, so long as she was pretty, and he could have what he wanted from her. (And he always got what he wanted.) Admittedly, some of the most breathtaking women Theodore had ever seen in his short life, were Muggles. But this did nothing to alleviate his growing condescension for them; even the most beautiful were but tools and playthings in the light of the power of wealth and magic.

As the Young Master, Theodore had free reign of the household, including its bountiful resources. He was taken to Diagon Alley on trips, where he bought whatever books and papers and toys he wanted. Once, when he was four, he bought an entire set of third-year Hogwarts texts, because someone had been careless enough to lose their supplies list. When his governess refused to teach him from these books, he had her fired, then ordered for one who would. For the years following, Theodore learned not from a set curriculum, but whatever he was interested in; whatever he wanted to know. If his teacher was not capable of satiating his curiosity, he would find another. Burgess, who was proud of Theodore's intelligence like a father, was more than pleased to oblige the young master's demands in this respect. Theodore's _actual_ father was less impressed – if he realized at all, that his only son and heir was years ahead of his soon to be contemporaries in the matter of academics. But it seemed, the only time Theodore caught his father's attention, was the one time he had not so accidentally let slip the details of one of his father's affairs. On his list of accomplishments at that time, Theodore had managed to brew a cure for hiccups (a basic potion, though still advanced for a nine year-old), and charm his pet rabbit into performing a rather well choreographed jig, but it was this bit of gossip that garnered the attention – and subsequent wrath – of his father. Such petty rage was lost on Theodore, though his father punished him severely for his lack of discretion. After that incident, Theodore assessed that he was no longer interested in family. In fact, he determined to only use his father's wealth until he could amass his own.

One afternoon, in the summer of Theodore's tenth year, he was dozing off with his back against the trunk of a large tree and his book laid gently on his chest, when a shadow passed overhead, and a girl literally fell out of the sky, crashing into him. She had straw blonde hair, with streaks of light brown that fell just past her thin shoulders, and gray eyes that Theodore immediately noticed, were sad.

"Who are you and where did you come from?" Theodore shouted once he had pushed the girl off and scrambled to his feet. The girl didn't answer at first, taking her time to right herself and test her limbs to make sure nothing was broken. Finally, she met his gaze and simply pointed upward, toward the sky. For a logical boy like Theodore, her reply was unacceptably lacking. "Be specific," he ordered.

"Well, I'm not sure of the specifics," she responded with a bit of a huff, as if Theodore was the exasperating one. "But I suppose, if you must know, I was walking along the river when I saw a unicorn and thought to myself, if any creature could take me back in time, a unicorn could. So, I climbed onto its back and asked it to take me…" she trailed off a moment, her eyes growing distant. They refocused on Theodore and the girl frowned. "I don't think this is what it had in mind, but I sort of fell off its back as it flew –"

"Wait," Theodore interrupted, also frowning. "Unicorns don't fly – or travel through time," he corrected her.

"Are you sure?" she questioned.

"Positive," he answered.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Theodore reflexively checked his watch and reported the time. "Hmm," she mused to herself, looking up at the sky once more. "So it's taken me nearly an hour into the future rather than back into the past like I had wanted."

"Have you considered," began Theodore, speaking slowly in an attempt to control his rising irritation. "That you were flying for an hour on that thing?"

"Well, I don't know," the girl said with a chirpiness in her voice. "I'm not entirely clear on how time travel works."

With a look of utter disbelief, Theodore stared at the girl and insisted, "You did not travel through time."

With a shrug and a tilt of her head, she replied, "How can you be so sure?"

"I'm quite confident," said Theodore. "So, who are you?"

"Now, I _know_ it's against the rules of time travel to share too much information."

"You're mad, you know that?" Theodore mocked her, rolling his eyes. As he shook his head, he caught her gaze, and the raw sorrow in its depths unwittingly cut through him. "Why did you want to go back in time?" he couldn't help but ask. She didn't answer – or rather, she wouldn't. It made Theodore feel embarrassed to have asked in the first place. "You're not hurt, are you?" he inquired next.

"No, I don't think so," she said quietly, looking herself over once more. But when she took a step forward, she nearly fell. "Or maybe…" she reconsidered sheepishly, leaning on Theodore for support. Rather than leaving the girl behind to get help, Theodore instead half-carried her back to the house. It was painstakingly slow as she stumbled along, getting distracted every other step by something or other. Theodore was just about to change his mind and leave her after all, when she noticed the wand sticking out of his pocket. "Oh!" she said, twisting about awkwardly and reaching for it.

"Don't touch! It's not yours," Theodore reprimanded, letting go immediately and stepping away.

"You can do magic," she said rather than asked. "Why do you have a wand? You're not much older than me, and we're not supposed have wands until we're eleven."

Theodore glared at the girl. "It was my mother's."

"Oh," she repeated, the word sounding very different from when she'd said it only a moment ago. She sat down heavily on the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest. Theodore joined her, his mother's old wand, now in his hands. It was the only thing he really had of hers, and for most of his life, it was purely functional; Theodore was using it only until he could get his own. But, for some reason, sitting next to this strange girl who was wildly more emotional than he could ever be, the wand felt sad. "May I?" the girl asked, holding out her hand. Without hesitation, Theodore placed the wand in her small hand. She held it delicately, almost reverently. "My Mum's wand… was lost," she said so quietly, Theodore nearly didn't hear. Like everything else about her, the girl's words were vague and undescriptive, but Theodore suddenly understood her better than he had before. She looked at her feet: her trainers were scuffed and dirty, the laces of both shoes undone. She flipped the wand in her hand and pointed to her right shoe, muttering something Theodore couldn't make out. The laces magically tied themselves. He looked at her with surprise; he had never met another witch or wizard his age who could handle magic with such ease. She glanced at him, meeting his shocked expression with a smile. "It was a spell my mother taught me," she said, returning the wand. She then reached forward to tie the laces of her left shoe, by hand. "She said once, that it's important to be able to do things well with and without magic. And to never settle for what's already been done."

With a hollow sort of feeling, Theodore watched as tears fell from the girl's very sad eyes. He didn't know what to do, so he let her cry. They didn't say much to each other after that, returning to the house mostly in silence. Burgess mended her ankle, cleaned her up, and helped contact her father, who picked her up shortly after, apologizing profusely for the inconvenience. Theodore never did learn her name. But he never forgot her either.

Theodore grew even more independent after that, expanding the horizons of his mind beyond the walls of magic – which actually made it more difficult for him once he started at Hogwarts. Being sorted into the venerable House of Slytherin, he soon found that his fellows were rather narrow-minded people, subscribing to the antiquated values that came with their lineage as well as the House. He recognized many in both name and face, though he would not consider any of them his friends. For the better part of two years, Theodore spent his time studying (which was more like a revision of things he already knew), maintaining a high standing in his year; he also observed the other students, forming mental assessments of their talents, capabilities, and potential. If these were to be the people who built the future, they would also be his stepping stones to the top.

But during his third-year at Hogwarts, something happened: his father, whose philandering habits had lessened through the years, took on a full-time lover – or whatever the proper term was; they certainly weren't married, even if she was now the only woman in his life. Her name was Aldora Black, and she was the daughter of Lucretia Prewett née Black, the wife of Ignatius Prewett, though they had no children together. To her grave, Lucretia had taken the identity of Aldora's father, but she insisted that her daughter was certifiably pure-blood. Theodore first met Aldora over Christmas break, when she stayed with them over the holidays. She was likely close to thirty years his father's junior, but from what Theodore could tell, her affection for the man was genuine – not that Theodore treated her any differently than all the other women before her. She was still there when he finished his third-year and returned home for the summer. For whatever reason, she tried to be social with him, especially when his father was absent, asking him about school, about his classmates, and inquired about his interests and hobbies. He answered all her questions curtly, always taking the earliest opportunity to excuse himself.

That summer, Theodore was forced to attend the Quidditch World Cup with his father and Aldora, though he had little interest in the sport itself. The summer after, they took a vacation together – as a _family_ , which was both ridiculous and painful for Theodore. He decided then, that once he turned seventeen and could use magic freely, he would live on his own – like how Sirius Black had, according to Draco. The two boys, having grown closer, even discussed the idea of sharing a space together, though Draco doubted his parents would actually let him leave home. But near the end of their fifth-year, both their fathers found themselves in Azkaban, leaving their families in a precarious situation. Two mornings after the incident at the Department of Mysteries, Theodore received a letter from his father; its message was succinct and without embellishment: Aldora was pregnant.

Theodore considered many things: moving out and living on his own (he was quite confident in his self-sufficiency even without the use of magic); staying with Draco at Hogwarts (although he doubted this would be allowed); returning home and forcing Aldora to leave (though this option seemed cruel, even to him). In the end, he decided going home would be the logical place to start; if nothing else, he wanted to speak with Burgess about the estate and family affairs now that he was technically the legal Head of the Family.

Aldora met him at King's Cross Station much to his irritation. On the trip home, she was silent which Theodore realized was much more uncomfortable than when she asked him questions; it was almost like she was holding her breath.

"How are you?" he asked her when he couldn't stand the silence anymore. She seemed surprised that he was initiating conversation.

"… Your Father told you, didn't he?" Theodore gave her a look that clearly said that wasn't a question that required a verbal answer. "I'm fine," she answered with a small sigh. She looked out the window at the passing houses. "We were hoping to tell you together, of course, but despite his being in prison, it's still better that you heard it from Ambrister and not me." After a pause, she turned toward Theodore again. "I'll understand if you ask me to leave the manor," she said, her tone both soft and proud. "This baby is not your concern."

"That baby is my sibling," Theodore replied tersely. "A member of the Nott Family. I can't guarantee that I'll grow to care for it, but it is, at the very least, my concern."

The first order of business became keeping the pregnancy a secret; Burgess put all the staff under a spell of confidentiality, and had the family lawyer draw up some papers about what the child would be entitled to. Aldora didn't ask for much or make any real demands; she was quite well-off herself, after all, being a daughter of Black. The second order of business came much sooner than Theodore was expecting: a visit from his father's companions – Death Eaters. Theodore had prepared himself to speak with them on equal grounds, but was surprised when Aldora protectively took the lead, though never overstepping on Theodore's rightful authority.

"Ambrister's absence leaves quite a void in the inner circle," one of the three Death Eaters said as the maids laid out tea and refreshments. "The Dark Lord, however, is confident that _someone_ will step up and take over his responsibilities."

"There are many who would be willing to, I'm sure," Aldora agreed shortly. She regarded the gentlemen with an icy disposition that even Theodore was impressed with. "However, Theo is still under the Trace and a student of Hogwarts. It would be unwise to force his hand at this point in time."

"Time is of the essence, Ms Black," another Death Eater said, his voice husky and rough. "The Dark Lord will not be kept waiting."

Aldora laughed coldly. "The Dark Lord has waited long enough, I agree, however, is he also not patient enough to act only when the time is optimal?" The frigid smile disappeared from her lips as she got to her feet. "Tell your Dark Lord that Ambrister Nott may be in Azkaban, but he is far from useless." She looked back at Theodore and smiled kindly. "It is not my place to tell you what to do," she said to him before sweeping out of the room.

"She's right," Theodore found himself saying moments after Aldora was gone. He also stood, indicating that the conversation was coming to a close. "Recruiting under Dumbledore's nose would be foolhardy, though I will take the position under consideration."

* * *

"You… said that," Draco stammered, staring at Theodore with a shocked expression.

He couldn't help but notice the hint of disappointment mixed in as well, and smiled to himself. "They're just words, Draco."

"They're not just words, Theo," the other boy rebutted. "They're Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord isn't going to just let you off because you said you were going to think about it." Draco ran a hand through his blonde hair with a sigh. "Are you actually considering it?"

Theodore shrugged. "It's an option, isn't it. For all of us – even you. The Dark Lord won't lightly turn his back on a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"My Aunt would never let me get that far," Draco huffed. "Besides, I'm definitely not interested."

"Figures," Theodore laughed. "I guess it all depends on how things go," he said, folding his hands on the table. "What kind of world we'll end up with one way or the other. If we can survive, what more could we ask for?" His question was semi-rhetorical; it wasn't so much that he believed what he was asking, rather than understanding Draco through his answer.

"I'm not sure surviving is enough anymore, Theo," his friend replied.

Theodore smiled. "We're Slytherins, Draco. Give us a reason to fight, and we will."


	37. Part 37

Her name was Colette. After two weeks of evading questions and making himself scarce, the four other Sixth Year Slytherin boys finally managed to get their friend Vincent to spill about this girl he was supposedly in love with. Her name was Colette; she was four years older, and a witch who had never attended Hogwarts. When Vincent reluctantly showed them a picture of her, even Draco had to admit, she was beautiful.

"How did you meet?" Blaise had asked, having taken the news worse than all the other boys – probably because Colette was undeniably prettier than any of the girls he'd ever dated. Every question he asked Vincent thereafter was filled with skepticism and peppered with not-so-hidden bitterness. "Are you sure it's not some dare or game she was playing? Maybe she lost a bet or something. Have you considered that she may only be interested in your family's money or pure-blood name?"

"Blaise, come on," Draco said with a disapproving look.

"I told you," Vincent defended hotly, his cheeks still red from when the interrogation began. "She doesn't run in the same circles as us; she's not pure-blood but she's a damn good witch either way. We saw each other several times during the summer – if it was a bet or a dare, she could've broken it off after one date." He stuffed the photo of Colette back into his robes before continuing. "And if all she wants is money or to marry a pure-blood, well I don't think _you_ of all people should be saying anything about that."

Gregory and Theodore had to hold Blaise back after that jab at his mother, and now it was Vincent, Draco was trying to get to back down. After getting the two boys to calm down enough that they wouldn't be at each other's throats with their wands, the group dispersed. As Draco left with his homework to meet Hermione and the others, Theodore tagged along. He joined them from time to time for study sessions, which only _slightly_ irritated Draco as Hermione usually took a greater interest in Theodore than her boyfriend (even if only because Theodore was the second-smartest student in their year), but he never stopped him from coming.

"You know," Theodore began to say as they walked through the semi-empty halls. "Though I don't agree with the reasoning behind his mistrust, I don't think Blaise is wrong to question Colette's sudden appearance and relationship with Crabbe."

"Sometimes these things just happen," was Draco's simple explanation, reflecting on his own relationship with Hermione. "But what exactly do you mean?"

The two boys slowed their pace. "Crabbe's father is also in Azkaban, and if I was visited by Death Eaters, one can only assume that he was as well."

"You think Colette is a Death Eater?" Draco asked doubtfully.

But Theodore shook his head. "She's not pure-blood, but that doesn't mean that it's not all related. I don't know how it all fits together, but we don't have the luxury of blindly believing in coincidences, do we?" The look Theodore gave him said to Draco that he was the one who didn't have the luxury, rather than Theodore himself.

Draco stopped walking altogether and stared at his friend. "Why sit on the fence about this?" he demanded. "Why would you help us if there's a chance we might have to fight each other down the line later on?" Furthering his irritation, Theodore smiled before answering.

"Like Professor Black says: It's not much fun if the other side doesn't put up a good fight."

"Rubbish!" Draco shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You have never done anything for pure amusement, Theo. You're a good man; I know you don't whole-heartedly agree with the plans of the Dark Lord."

"Draco, you know how I was raised; you know I believe Muggles to be inferior and that it's preposterous for Magic-kind to have to live under the ill-constructed restrictions that we do."

"Yes, but I also know you don't believe in murder and the loss of innocent lives – Magic-kind or Muggle. I know you don't support the idea of a system that places pure-bloods above half-bloods and Muggleborns. You recognize talent no matter the heritage of the person."

Silence fell between the two wizards as they regarded each other honestly. "Perhaps," Theodore said at length. "But as neither side of this war can offer me the outcome I desire, I can't choose one or the other just yet." He turned without another word and continued walking, leaving Draco behind.

* * *

"I _really_ wish he'd stick to a consistent, set curriculum," Hermione exclaimed once more. This had been her one complaint since Sirius had started teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she had voiced her dissatisfaction more times than Draco, Harry, and Ron had fingers to count. The four students were walking through the school grounds after supper one evening, on their way to Hagrid's hut.

"Why don't you talk to _him_ about it then?" Ron grumbled with an exasperated sigh. He rolled his eyes at Draco, who shared his sentiment in silence.

Hermione inhaled sharply. "Because," she said, her voice now a pitch higher. "Every single time I try to approach him he escapes! He conjures up some sort of distraction or finds some way to disappear; once he just took off down the hall, pushing students out of the way as he ran!"

The three boys struggled to swallow their laughter while maintaining expressions of intent listening. "You have to admit," Harry said slowly, his lips twitching after Ron let out a loud hiccup. "He's a very good teacher." Reluctantly, Hermione pursed her lips and exhaled in concession. "Then does it really matter if he teaches every class something a little different? Besides, Malfoy and Nott give you their notes from their lessons, as does Luna and Hannah Abbott."

"Who, by the way, you should be a bit nicer to when you demand to know what they learned in D.A.D.A.," added Ron, stretching his long arms upward as they walked. "Because I'm pretty sure Neville has a huge crush on her and she finds you intimidating."

Hermione looked surprised as Harry elbowed Ron in the ribs, muttering something about that being a secret. "Point is, Hermione," Harry pressed on. "Sirius will teach us what he thinks we need to know."

They reached the hut before Hermione could argue anymore, and Draco rapped on the wooden door loudly. Sirius answered, wearing a wide smile that only grew when his eyes met Hermione's; she scowled a little in return.

"Evening," he said, holding the door open as the students walked past. Inside, Remus was busy pouring hot water into a large teapot, several mugs were laid on the large table that stood to one side of the hut. Hagrid was nowhere to be seen.

"Hagrid's got business," Remus explained, before anyone could even ask. "He'd asked me to cancel with you but I thought, since it's been a while since our last proper conversation, it would be a good time to catch up."

Like Sirius, Remus looked different now too; though he had been polished as Draco's tutor, having to no longer live under the aesthetic standards of Narcissa Malfoy, Remus Lupin was a bit more casual and looked a great deal more comfortable this way. He wore jeans and a simple, cotton long-sleeved shirt on top; over that he wore a thick cable-knit cardigan despite the weather still being quite mild. His hair was a bit longer and tousled; he pushed it out of his eyes as he placed a plate of biscuits on the table.

"Perfect," Hermione said, striding over to the table first. She turned to Sirius and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter another word, Sirius had his wand directed at the Gryffindor girl.

"Not a word about my classes," he warned her with a twisted smile. Hermione's eyes narrowed defiantly but she closed her mouth. "Now," he said, his smiling becoming more kind. "Harry, I hear from Slughorn you're doing quite well in Potions."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances while Hermione rolled her eyes and took a biscuit from the plate. They had yet to share with Draco the secret to Harry's sudden success in the subject he had been, up to that year, truly terrible in. "A change in professor makes all the difference, I suppose," Harry replied with a tense laugh. Draco couldn't help but sigh at Harry's lack of skill in lying.

"Just like Evans," Remus noted quietly, putting the teapot on the table and taking a seat next to Hermione. The older man watched Harry with careful eyes, though his gaze did not give away what he might be thinking. "Slughorn must be happy to see Lily's son doing so well; she was one of his favourite students, you know."

"Yeah," Harry nodded as everyone took a place around the large, round table. "He mentioned that to me when we first met. He said she was really talented."

"She was a genius," Sirius said with a huff. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "Prongs was an idiot at best when it came to Potions, so you're lucky you take after your mother and not your father on that count."

Draco took a deep breath as the conversation praising Harry's skills at Potions carried on; he didn't rejoin the discussion until the topic had turned, and Remus directed him a personal question.

"Have you any idea what's happened to Pansy Parkinson?" Remus asked him. "She's… rather different than how I remember her from a few years ago when I was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was more spirited then, even if spitefully so."

"You know how girls around this age get, Moony," remarked Sirius as he crammed two biscuits into his mouth at once.

Sixth Year Prefects, while still holding some responsibilities with the role, had fewer duties to perform due to the workload of N.E.W.T. level classes, which meant Draco saw less of Pansy outside of lessons, but he had noticed the changes. He shared what he had observed of her since the end of the previous school year, including his personal suspicions that she might have gotten involved with the Dark Lord.

"That sounds about right," commented Sirius casually, pushing back from the table with a foot so that his chair rocked on its two back legs. "Ye ol' Dark Lord is recruiting, this much we know."

But Remus shook his head, though his expression was dark. "We can't just assume every pure-blood is a Death Eater, Padfoot," he reprimanded. "That's only going to further perpetuate animosity and distrust when what we need now is unification – especially within Hogwarts." Sirius snorted derisively as he let his chair crash forward back onto all four legs, but didn't say anything otherwise.

"Why don't we just read her mind?" suggested Ron. "We'll know for sure that way, won't we?"

Again Remus shook his head. "Dumbledore has forbidden that any student's mind be read – _your_ case was different, Harry," he added, after the young Gryffindor donned an angry frown. "The use of Legilimency would work against us even if it is effective, Ron. Dumbledore wants trust to be established in free will."

"Hence, no Imperio either," added Sirius.

"That's not funny, Padfoot," chastised Remus.

The other man smirked. "Who said I was trying to be funny?"

"Regardless of House or blood status, we should keep an eye out for _any_ unusual behaviour," suggested Hermione sensibly. Ron made an incredulous face, muttering, "But … That's impossible!" but Hermione continued over him. "After all, no one is exempt from the lure of power."

Draco really wished Hermione hadn't been looking straight at him when she'd said this, though he knew her concern wasn't for him specifically. "You can't talk to Theo about this," she said to him in a quiet voice. The others seemed to agree with her.

"His family's treachery runs deeper than you know," warned Sirius darkly.

"No deeper than my own," Draco defended. "I thought we weren't going to automatically assume the worst of anyone."

"That's not the same as being reckless with information, Draco," said Remus. "We need to be cautious." With a loud sigh, he closed his eyes and laid his hands flat on the table. "Even speaking to you four like this is risky." He opened his eyes and smiled. "But we know it's sometimes more dangerous to keep you out of the loop. Keep in mind this doesn't mean we'll tell you everything or allow you to absently pass on what you learn. We expect more of you than that."

The four students nodded in silent agreement. "Moving on," said Sirius, clapping his hands so loudly, he startled everyone else in the hut. "Quidditch. Harry: what've you got in mind for a team?"

They talked until night fell and were escorted back to the castle before curfew. In the now empty Entrance Hall, Harry and Ron waved as they climbed the stairs toward to the Gryffindor Tower, leaving Draco and Hermione alone to say their goodnight in private. With a small smile, Hermione tiptoed and put her arms around Draco's neck, kissing him lightly.

"Wait," he said when she let go and turned to leave. He summoned Dobby who appeared holding a wrapped box. "I know it's a bit early, but, Happy Birthday." Dobby handed Hermione the box with a courteous bow. The house-elf, who was grinning foolishly as he stared at Hermione, missed the cues Draco gave him to leave. He had to cough loudly – muttering the elf's name as he did – before Dobby finally caught on and disappeared with a wink and a loud crack. Draco had asked Winky to help him with finding and purchasing the gift as he was not allowed to move freely this past summer, and it had been more difficult than he'd anticipated, but he was pleased; it was well worth the effort. He watched Hermione as she carefully opened the gift; the glimmer of light bouncing off of polished silver caught his eye as Hermione suddenly snapped the box shut.

"Draco…" she said breathlessly, staring at him with wide eyes.

"I thought a practical gift would suit you better," he said, looking back at her with a smile. "I know it's not typically what a boyfriend might give his girlfriend for a birthday present, but considering the times…" Hermione stepped forward and placed her hand gently on his cheek; he leaned into her touch. "There's a not-so-practical part to that gift as well," added Draco, placing his hand over Hermione's. He lifted her hand off his face and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Happy Birthday, Hermione."

* * *

Feeling elated after giving Hermione her gift (and receiving her gratitude in return), Draco made his way back to the Slytherin Dungeons. He was just rounding the last corner when he heard voices:

"I make no promises," a voice Draco recognized as Professor Snape said. "But I will do what I can."

"I'm counting on you, Professor," Theodore replied. "There isn't anyone else I can trust with this – not within the inner circle."

"Do not speak of that here," the Professor hissed. After a moment of tense silence, he added, "I appreciate the information and will act as swiftly as I may, but do not bring up this matter while we are in Hogwarts again. And, it would be prudent for you to keep this to yourself."

The blissful buzz of Hermione was pushed out of Draco's mind as he pondered the words between Theodore and Snape: as far as he knew, to Theodore, Professor Snape was still just a Death Eater, and it was clear he was speaking to him in this capacity. As his mind was grasping at ends to find some sense to this meeting, another voice joined:

"Theodore," Pansy said, her voice quiet though still audible from where Draco stood. She briefly apologized for the interruption before saying, "When you're done with the Professor, we need to talk."


	38. Part 38

**Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for not updating. I hope this will make up for it.**

* * *

By the time the first Hogsmeade trip rolled around, Draco had the deep desire to both go and not go. He desperately needed the break, though he wasn't sure he could afford to take the time off. Sixth year was more difficult than Draco could have anticipated; after classes, homework, study sessions, Prefect duties, and Quidditch practice, Draco practically crawled into bed every night, exhausted. And even then, sleep did not come to him easily: his mind was plagued by the mounting secrets he kept and those that were kept from him. Theodore had not shared with him the details of his conversation with Pansy or Severus Snape – the Death Eater. Draco knew no more about Colette than he did about Harry's sudden proficiency in Potions, and he was starting to have misgivings about both. Now that he was forced to think about it, he wondered who he could trust – and if others really trusted him. He couldn't help but ask himself what goals motivated those around him, and what he himself was hoping for – working toward. He had blindly committed himself to any cause Hermione deemed important and was subsequently caught up in his current situation: feeding any and all information to the Order of the Phoenix without being privy to how it would be used or what purpose it served. There were more and more things even Hermione would not tell him – like about Harry's private lessons with Dumbledore (although it was a slight improvement from the previous year where they had outright lied to him about the Occlumency lessons). And that brought him back to the issue of trust.

"Draco, I'm sorry," Hermione apologized. They stood on the steps of the castle as students heading to Hogsmeade streamed past them. They had made plans to spend time together in the Village, but something last minute came up that required Hermione to be somewhere else – she couldn't say where, but she gave him the 'Order business' look.

"It's fine," Draco replied, the words rolling out easily and with little emotion. The frequency with which he said these words had dimmed most of whatever he felt, be it frustration, disappointment, or loneliness. With a quick kiss, Hermione flew down the stairs, joining Harry and Ron, who were waiting for her. The two boys waved at him before turning, and he returned the gesture, though only half-heartedly. About to turn back into the castle, an arm caught him around the shoulders, and instead ushered him in the same direction as all the other students.

"Come on now," Theodore said with a smile, pulling Draco along with him and the other Slytherin boys. "No sense in moping around the school when there's still plenty of fun to be had – even without your girl."

Gregory nodded to the other side of him, and Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Where's Vin?" Draco asked, noting his absence.

Again Blaise rolled his eyes, but this time, he added a derisive snort. "Left earlier," he said shortly. "Meeting Colette in Hogsmeade."

"But," Gregory added, speaking more kindly, "he told us to meet them. He wants to introduce Colette properly." Draco shrugged; he had nothing better to do.

As they braved the increasingly cold and damp October weather to the Magical Village of Hogsmeade, the Slytherins joked, laughed, and griped over their workload; they discussed the things they were learning, and even talked a bit about what their plans were after their seventh and final year. At Hogsmeade, they started at the Three Broomsticks, snatching up a table near the bar where they warmed themselves with a round of Butterbeer. By the third round, their group had expanded to include a couple of sixth year Ravenclaw boys and a few Hufflepuffs; they trash talked about Quidditch, making wild and reckless forecasts of the upcoming season.

"Bah," one of the Hufflepuffs said, making a face and smacking the table with a broad hand. "You're the only good player on the team, Malfoy. But _one_ ain't good enough to win the cup now, eh?" His housemates chuckled in agreement.

Blaise drained the last of his Butterbeer before putting his glass down on the table loudly. With a nasty grin, he said, "I'll have you know, I'll be taking up the position of Chaser on the team this year. And if you want to put an early wager on your house versus ours, I'd be glad to take your money."

The table erupted as the other boys egged them on, and Blaise took the outstretched hand of the Hufflepuff, shaking it. "You're on, Zabini," he said, matching the Slytherin's smirk. Theodore took notes on who was betting what, keeping careful track as others started shouting, joining in.

They left the Three Broomsticks in good spirits and made their way down the street to Honeydukes where they purchased items to take back with them to school. Blaise wanted to stop by Splintwitches, the sports shop, and Theodore, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, so they did. By the time they went to meet Vincent and Colette, their satchels were full while their wallets were considerably lighter.

Waiting for them outside the Post Office was Vincent and, presumably, Colette. She was tall and lean, her dark hair streaked with strands of purple, contrasting with her pale complexion. She was just as pretty as the picture they had seen, if not more so in person; even Blaise's arrogance was muted in her presence, much to Vincent's satisfaction. He introduced Colette, naming each of his friends in turn.

"Pleasure," she said simply when they had all been acquainted.

"The pleasure is ours," Draco returned on behalf of himself and the others. "So… Vin's told us next to nothing about you; how did you two meet?"

Colette and Vincent exchanged looks, and she smiled before turning back to Draco. "At a party. In London." When she didn't elaborate anymore, Draco suggested they move their conversation inside, understanding that it might be a long one. Inside the Three Broomsticks once more, they chatted, asking and answering questions in turn. Colette spoke concisely though not in an unfriendly manner, and her replies were thoughtful and without hesitation. From what she shared with them, they learned that her mother was a witch and her father a Muggle; they were separated. She had an older brother who was working in the Muggle world. Neither of them had attended Hogwarts, though she wouldn't say from where they had learned magic. In return, she asked them about their families, and what Hogwarts was like. Draco might have thought, at one point, Vincent and Colette's relationship unusual or unlikely, but from the way her eyes twinkled when she looked at Vincent, or heard a story told of him, Draco was certain her feelings were genuine. When it was time for them to head back to the school, they noticed a large crowd gathering in the street.

"What's going on?" Colette asked curiously as more people elbowed past her toward the edge of the Village, in the direction of the school. They followed the crowd but even before the castle was in view, they noticed a billowing cloud of black smoke rising into the sky.

"What's going on?" Draco repeated, speaking with urgency to one of the shopkeepers who had come out to join the growing mass. There was little information he could provide, though he regarded the situation with a dark expression.

"There's been a fire," a woman said to Draco, her expression as concerned as the other man. "Hogwarts students are being gathered up at the front; you should go." Relaying the information to his mates, Draco and the other Slytherins moved their way to where all the other students were. The road leading back to Hogwarts was blocked, and standing in the way was Bill and Fleur.

"Do not push or I'll 'ex you," Fleur was commanding shrilly, waving her wand over the students. "And you zere: Stop crying! Zee expression is most unbecoming." Bill was busy addressing some of the older students and villagers at the same time, though what he was saying, Draco couldn't make out from where he stood. A cold wind swept over them, momentarily silencing all noise; the smoke continued to rise and, now that he had a better view, Draco saw it was coming from the Headmaster's Tower. In the sea of students, he looked for Hermione and the others, but couldn't find them. Knowing for whom he searched, Theodore grabbed Draco's arm and shook his head slowly.

"They're not here," he confirmed. He provided no other words – not of comfort or reassurance of their safety; he would not say what he didn't know, after all. They looked back just as another explosion sent a shower of stone and heavy debris flying through the air. The crowd gasped in unison as Fleur clutched at her fiancé, her deep blue-eyes wide with fear. "Bill," she said, her voice wavering. "What do we do?"

Pulling her in toward him, Bill kissed the top of Fleur's head, and whispered something for her ears alone. Then he released her and together they faced the students and villagers with unified strength and authority. "Villagers, please return to your homes and shops. Students are to follow Professor Delacour, who will lead you to a safe and protected location." Bill clapped his hands together, the sound bouncing off the nearby cottages and echoing into the distance; at this, everyone started to move, though slowly. As the mob started to clear, Draco pushed his way through toward Bill, who had sent off his Patronus toward the school. Seeing him, Bill frowned. "Not now, Draco," he said, his voice husky. "Go with the other students."

"Have you seen Hermione – Harry, and Ron?" he asked quickly.

Bill's expression grew blank though his eyes looked troubled. "They're fine," he said at last. "That's all I can say, but I assure you, they are safe."

Draco hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until then, and as he exhaled, he nodded his thanks for this information. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered. When Bill didn't answer immediately, Draco continued, "I –"

"No," Bill said, cutting the younger man off. "Go with the other students," he repeated.

"But –"

"Go!" Bill said once more, raising his voice.

Eyes narrowing coldly, Draco turned, and without another utterance of protest, followed in the dying wake of the crowd.

* * *

Hermione and the others were indeed safe, though Draco wouldn't see them until the next morning in the Great Hall, and he wouldn't have the chance to speak with them for days. The incident was reported to the student body as an accident, though no details of what had caused the explosions were given. There were no casualties or injuries sustained from the explosion – student or staff otherwise. Dumbledore himself, had been away. The Headmaster's Tower was cordoned off, starting at the stairs that led to the corridor where the stone gargoyle sat. Classes in that area were diverted to other rooms, and a guard was posted at all times, in case a student was clever enough to get past the magical barriers.

A sobriety filled the castle the days following the explosion; the infallible stronghold that was Hogwarts had been breached. Rumours rumbled among the students, filling the hallways with noise at every moment of the passing days.

"There's more to it than the teachers are leading on – or are willing to say," Blaise commented late one evening as they finished up their homework. He had joined a secret group of students who spent two hours a week, devising theories behind the blast – probably because there was a very pretty fourth year in the group, and Blaise was tired of being single.

"Obviously," Theodore remarked coldly. He had said very little in regards to the incident itself, though Draco couldn't tell if it was because he was busy thinking or was simply not interested. "But I can tell you now that none of your hypotheses are even remotely close to the truth."

"How do you know what we've come up with?"

Theodore didn't reply with words, instead casting Blaise his trademark look of exasperation. He gathered his things into his bag and threw it over his shoulder, waving lazily as he headed to their room. As students wandered off to bed, the Slytherin Common Room slowly emptied until it was just Draco. He had completed most of his work but sat by the fireplace, staring blankly into the flames, his quill – now dry – hovering over a fresh roll of parchment. He was so lost in thought that when Dobby appeared, suddenly and with his usual loud crack, Draco didn't even notice. The house-elf delivered to him a note with simple directions around the castle and a wrap – like a shawl.

"It's invisible," Dobby informed him with a smile.

"Come again?" Draco asked, looking at the length of fabric with confusion. Dobby made the action of drawing it out and wrapping it around himself, then winked. Comprehension dawning, Draco realized it was an Invisibility Cloak – something similar to Harry's. "Who's this from?" he said next, but Dobby had already gone. With a sigh, he threw the cloak over himself and left.

The directions led him to a classroom located on the far side of the school. He crept along slowly and quietly even though there was no sign of anyone else around – not even the school's ghosts. When he arrived at the classroom, the door was shut, and there was no window to look through; anyone standing guard outside or inside would know the minute he entered. Not knowing who he was meeting, Draco paused: he didn't like the idea of walking into something so uncertain. But, at the same time, he couldn't just turn around either, could he? Touching his wand against the wood of the door, he wordlessly cast a spell that enhanced sound, hoping to hear something from the other side, but whoever had summoned him had set up a counter-spell to stop any manner of eavesdropping. He sighed, thinking of his options. He could wait, of course, to see if anyone else would show up – or perhaps leave, if he waited long enough. Eventually, curiosity got the best of him, and he cautiously opened the door, wand at the ready for whatever might be waiting for him.

The room was empty.

Or so it had seemed, for a long moment, drawn out by tension. But after he'd stepped in, the door was slammed shut behind him, the iron handle wrenched roughly from his fingers. His wits told him that he was now likely surrounded. Taking a hurried step back, so that his back was against the nearest wall, he held forward his wand. His eyes darted about, waiting for movement. But before he saw anything, he heard a laugh – deep and amused. It seemed to emanate from the walls of the room itself. Without warning, from a few feet in front, a large, dark mass emerged and pounced upon Draco, pulling off the cloak as he crashed against the wall. His wand was taken from him as he slid down, unable to free himself from the weight of whatever had attacked him. His head was throbbing painfully from where it had contacted the stone of the wall, and he had trouble focusing, but when his eyes finally did, he looked into the gaping maw of a large, black dog.

"Sirius?" he said, furrowing his brow. If dogs could smile, this one did – and sardonically at that.

"That's enough, Padfoot," said Remus from somewhere Draco couldn't see. Suddenly becoming visible, Remus Lupin was standing by the door, holding Draco's wand as well as his own. "Good evening, Draco," he said calmly though Sirius in dog-form still pinned him uncomfortably to the ground. Nymphadora Tonks had also appeared, and was apparently fighting to the urge to laugh. Finally, Sirius reverted to human-form, though he still held Draco down.

"Hello, hello," Sirius greeted him genially.

"Mind letting me up?" Draco asked, biting each word as he glared at the older man.

"I would, in fact," replied Sirius plainly. "We've a few questions for you, _pure-blood_."

Draco scowled at being referred to in that manner. Remus walked over and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, and reluctantly, Sirius got to his feet, allowing Draco to stand as well. He stood with his back to the wall once more as the others converged on him; he stared back at them. "What questions have you got to ask me?"

"We just want to know if you've heard anything – anything at all regarding the explosions."

Draco shook his head, truthfully. "Not unless you count the mad theories Blaise's conspiracy group have come up with, but Theo reckons they're a long shot from being true."

Ironically, it was the placid expression Remus wore that gave him away as he muttered, "Nott, eh? Has he said anything else or perhaps, nothing at all? Has he been acting unusual or suspicious?"

"Not particularly," Draco lied, feeling suddenly protective. The adults scrutinized him and his words. He brushed past them and took a seat in one of the empty chairs; folding his arms, he stared up at them, disinclined to say more.

"What about any of the others in your house?" Remus persisted.

"Have you asked any of the others? Call 'em into an empty room in the middle of the night for a chat, just like this?"

With a sigh, Remus exchanged looks with Tonks, and then Sirius. "Draco, it was imperative that others not know we're meeting like this, which is why we used the methods we did to get you here."

Draco gave them a contemptuous look that indicated he did not appreciate their sense of consideration. "I've heard as many rumors about the explosions from within Slytherin as I have from outside; there's no evidence that anyone in my house was involved."

"There's no need to be defensive," Tonks said soothingly, which unfortunately had the opposite effect on Draco.

"You're deliberately looking for perpetrators in Slytherin – are you not?"

"Draco, we have every intention of speaking with –"

"With whom? Weasley? Or Potter?" He laughed derisively. "Course not! Because how _could_ anyone from Gryffindor be involved? Well, what about the other houses: interrogated any Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs?" When they didn't respond, he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't think so," he muttered.

Sirius slammed his foot against the desk next to Draco's seat; the two locked eyes. "When there's trouble in the hen house, you look for the snake first," he said viciously.

"Well, you're looking in the wrong place," Draco returned evenly. "If you want to share information with me, maybe provide me with some details about the incident and a guideline of what to look for, I'd be more than happy to assist." Again the adults exchanged looks without responding. "That's what I thought." He stood before Remus, expecting to have his wand returned to him.

"This is not a game, Draco," Remus said, his voice thick with authority.

"What makes you think, for one moment, that I've thought of it as such? All I'm asking for is to be treated with a bit of respect and dignity."

"That will come with time," Tonks assured him, taking his wand from Remus and returning it, like a gesture of good will. "We just need to know – for sure – that we can trust you."

"You don't trust me already?" he returned incredulously. "After everything I've… You know what, forget it."

"But – This means a great deal to Hermione!" Tonks blurted before Draco could pull open the door.

With a final glance over his shoulder, he said, "Well, maybe it's time I focus on the things that mean a great deal to _me_."


	39. Part 39

Without the Invisibility Cloak for his return trip (and he had admittedly not thought of using the Disillusionment Charm – not that he had mastered it yet), Draco was caught by Professor Sprout and given a week's worth of detention. The first was served on a cold and dreary evening repotting various plants. Having never been good at manual labour, transferring normal, inanimate plants was challenging enough, but dealing with the ones that could move and scream and bite… Well, by the end of night, Draco was seriously considering becoming a vegetarian, just to spite all plant life. He had even sustained several injuries that, according to the Herbology Professor, unfortunately would only "heal with time".

Draco's detentions were to be spread out as the sixth year's demanding schedule didn't allow for him to be available every evening – which suited Professor Sprout just fine. Soon realizing that the only thing worse than serving actual detention was having to _make time_ for it among an already packed schedule, Draco almost wished he could have just gotten it over and done with in a single week. The morning following, Draco had Prefect duties to attend to with Pansy, and he noticed that, as they walked in silence, she kept glancing at his arms, which were bandaged to nearly his fingers.

"If you're wondering as to whether or not I'll be able to play this weekend's match against Gryffindor, you can stop; I'll be fine by then," he assured her tersely. Despite being socially withdrawn these days, Pansy was nearly as big a fan of Quidditch as Ron was, and she never failed to share her disappointment in their team's losing streak, particularly against Gryffindor. But her expression told Draco that Quidditch was not on her mind. Absently, she tugged at her own sleeves, pulling them down even though they were stretched far past her wrists. "Are you okay?" Draco found himself asking, looking at her quizzically. Pansy quickly snapped out of her reverie and shot Draco a scathing look, and without saying anything, picked up her pace, putting several feet of distance between them. Curiosity piqued and just a bit frustrated, Draco caught up to her. "Hey!" he said, grabbing her by the arm. She twisted around, trying to wrench free from his grasp, and he noticed that, just past her wrists, her arms were also wrapped.

"Don't!" she shouted, pulling herself free with a snap. She held her arms close to her body as if Draco had witnessed a deeply guarded secret. Her expression was equal parts fury and fear.

"What are you hiding?" Draco asked, keeping his voice even. "What happened?" If she had been injured during school, he – as a Prefect – would have known, as the incident would have been recorded. ...Well, unless a teacher – like their Head of House, Professor Snape – made an exception and bypassed that rule.

"None of your business," she returned. She fixed her sleeves, all the while glaring at Draco, then turned and continued walking. Again Draco caught up to her, but this time, he walked a few steps behind. Neither said anything.

They turned a corner and the silence gave way to the sound of their steps against the stone ground; the rhythm of their pace surrounded them as it echoed through the stone corridor. Spots of red caught Draco's eye soon after: blood. His eyes moved to Pansy's hand and watched as a drop fell from her fingertip to the ground, marking the light gray stone.

"Pansy," he called out, stopping mid-step. "Your arm. You're bleeding."

Pansy's curse bounced off the stone and down the hall as she drew back her sleeves; the wrappings were soaked red on both arms. With panic in her eyes, Pansy looked to Draco – for help. "You need to get to the hospital wing," he said, walking toward her. But she immediately stepped back.

"I can't," she said in a fearful whisper.

"You're bleeding," repeated Draco slowly. "You need to go to the hospital wing."

But she just shook her head, taking a few more steps away from him. "I can't," she said once more. "You don't understand Draco; I can't go to the school's infirmary. No one can see this."

"Pansy, tell me what happened."

To his surprise, Pansy let out a hollow and scornful laugh. "What do you care?" she asked.

He couldn't believe how stubborn she was being; glancing between Pansy's hateful expression and the blood that seemed to soak through the bandaging at an alarming rate, Draco knew he didn't have time to argue with her. He drew his wand and conjured long strips of gauze; he looked up to see Pansy's wand pointed at him, just as she immobilized him. There was no longer any anger in her eyes; just terror. "I – I'm sorry," she stammered, as if uncertain of the words she was saying. She ran forward to snatch the fresh dressings from Draco's frozen hand. "Please… Please don't tell anyone," she added, her tone pleading. She turned her wand to the splatters of crimson here and there along the stone, cleaning them with a few simple flicks. Then she turned and ran. Once out of sight, her spell was cancelled, and Draco could move again.

Of course, he considered running after her, but what would be the point? He also thought of telling someone, but he was haunted by the desperation in both Pansy's eyes and words when she had begged him not to. Plus, he wasn't feeling inclined to share anymore information with anyone anyway. He was thinking he might just skip the Prefect meeting when he heard voices approaching; moments later, Hermione and Ron turned the same corner he and Pansy had earlier.

"Draco," she said upon seeing him.

"Hey," Ron added with an awkward wave. Draco presumed it was because they would be facing each other on the Quidditch Pitch in only a few days – or so he hoped. He didn't know how soon or what Remus, Sirius, or Tonks might have shared about their meeting the previous night.

"Where's Pansy?" Hermione asked, giving Draco a light kiss on the cheek. She took a quick step in and lowered her voice, "Has something happened?" she asked. "Anything unusual or suspicious?"

Apparently, the adults had not said anything to the others just yet. Draco's gray eyes met Hermione's and he slowly shook his head. "She's just skipping out on Prefect duties," he said simply.

"Well… I guess that's not so weird," Ron commented with a shrug.

"But don't you think it's weird how she's changed?" Hermione added as the three of them started to walk together.

"Well, yeah," replied Ron. "But it's not like we can just ask her, now, can we? Besides, that's not so odd either, is it?" Both Hermione and Draco stopped to stare at Ron. "I mean," he continued, ruffling his hair as he thought. "Her life's taken a huge turn for the worse with things happening over the past couple of years – first it was Draco choosing you, Hermione, over her. Then last year, Draco took over the Inquisitorial Squad after humiliating her, and after Umbridge got ousted, she was pretty much disgraced by the whole school for her actions. Slytherin wasn't exactly pleased with losing all their house points – and that's after suffering a crushing season of Inter-House Quidditch, which was then cancelled, leaving Slytherin no chance for redemption." His face flushed as he finished this last point, probably reminded of his own tenuous first season as Gryffindor's Keeper.

"Well, when you put it that way," said Hermione quietly.

Glad that neither Hermione nor Ron seemed keen to stay on the subject of Pansy, Draco tried to push her out of mind as well. He walked the rest of the way with the two Gryffindors, saying very little about anything else.

* * *

"Here, let me show you."

Draco watched as Neville extracted a bright violet pod from a nasty looking black and brown plant that had nearly ripped off Draco's fingers with its tendrils; he made it look so easy. The second of Draco's detentions was served alongside Neville Longbottom – who was there not for punishment but because he enjoyed Herbology, and spent many of his free hours helping Professor Sprout. She remunerated the Gryffindor house points for his assistance, and Draco couldn't help but wonder how many of his housemates knew from where they were accumulating these points. "They don't easily give up their seeds," Neville explained patiently, as he looked upon the plant with a fondness Draco found similar to the affection he himself paid to Imperia. "So you have to coax them a little before they'll relinquish the pod. Each plant holds two to three pods containing up to five seeds each, so why don't you give this one another try." Draco looked from Neville to the plant skeptically; nowhere in the other boy's explanation did he provide instructions on _how_ to actually accomplish the task. With a sigh, Draco pictured Imperia in place of the plant, and imagined she held something in her talons that he wanted. The plant was no less aggressive. "It helps," Neville added, poorly hiding an amused smile, "in the beginning, if you verbalize your intentions – like, saying 'please', for example." In sharp contrast to Neville's jovial expression, Draco's face hardened with his displeasure at having to not only speak to a plant, but to ask it for anything. Neville turned his attention to another plant, allowing Draco some privacy.

"Now listen here," Draco began, addressing the potted vegetation before him. The mess of black and brown tangles seemed to writhe irritably at his tone of voice. "You don't want to give up your seeds – I understand that, however, it's going to happen one way or another. So, I suggest you hand over every pod you hold before I cut off every single one of your tendrils and wrest it from whatever remains of you thereafter." For a moment, neither the plant nor Draco moved, as if standing off against each other. Eventually – slowly, and with obvious reluctance – the knots of the plant uncoiled to reveal two pods near its base, and Draco quickly plucked them out. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Draco asked both the plant and himself with a satisfied smile. As an afterthought, Draco tapped one of the plant's appendages lightly as a sign of gratitude for its cooperation. The plant recoiled in and around itself and didn't move anymore after.

"Wow," Neville exclaimed, seeing the two pods in Draco's hand. "You did well," he praised.

"Good instructions, I guess," Draco replied with a smile. He put the two pods aside and moved on to the next plant.

For a job well-done (having collected more pods and seeds than she had anticipated he would), Professor Sprout actually awarded Slytherin ten house points at the end of Draco's detention. He'd also gained quite a bit of insight, having learned the various applications of this particular plant's seeds. The two boys left the greenhouse at the same time, walking together through the darkening school grounds back to the castle. Draco realized he hadn't really spoken much with Neville since they fought together at the Department of Mysteries.

"How are things, Longbottom?" he asked, not knowing where to start.

With a meek smile and laugh to match, Neville replied, "Alright, I suppose. Sixth year is really hard, even though I've dropped the subjects I've struggled with most – like Transfiguration, much to my grandmother's disapproval." Despite not knowing Augusta Longbottom personally, Draco certainly knew _of_ her, as she was something of an icon in the Wizarding community. "She really wanted me to become an Auror like my parents were." There was a sadness to Neville's words, as if part of him wanted this as well.

"You've plenty of talent for other things," Draco encouraged, thinking of how well he excelled at Herbology, and how he had expertly administered first aid during their fight against the Death Eaters.

Neville smiled appreciatively. "Still, I wish I could be more useful though," he mused out loud. "You know, fighting and stuff. It's hard to avenge your parents when you're as useless as I am." He held his hands out, palms up, and stared at them. Draco was at a loss of what to say to his friend.

Climbing up the main stairs leading into the Entrance Hall, they met Hannah Abbott who apparently had just returned after being pulled out of school for a few days due to a family emergency. According to rumors which were later confirmed true, her mother had been found dead in their home; it was suspected that she had been killed by Death Eaters. Neville stopped walking upon seeing her, and Draco remembered that he had something of a crush on the Hufflepuff girl. But looking between Neville and Hannah, Draco realized something else: Neville's parents had been tortured into incapacitation, Hannah's mother had been killed; his own father was in Azkaban while his mother was in hiding – and they were only a few among many whose situations were growing increasingly similar. It seemed that Hogwarts was fast becoming as much an orphanage and sanctuary as it was a school.

"Hannah," Neville murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. It was enough to draw her attention though, and she looked at the boys with red, swollen eyes; her usual rosy complexion was ghostly pale, and her lips quivered slightly.

"We're so sorry for your loss," Draco articulated on behalf of Neville and himself. Despite looking broken, Hannah held herself with an air of dignity as she nodded her head once in acknowledgement. "Why don't you let Longbottom help you with your bag," he suggested, giving Neville a glance, "and I'll inform Professor Sprout of your return." Hannah nodded once more, muttering a word of thanks as Neville ambled forward, his cheeks turning pink.

Draco exited the school, walking out into the night to make his way back to the greenhouses. The air had grown colder now that the sun had dipped below the horizon, and he drew his robes around him in a feeble attempt to retain warmth. He hurried to his destination and caught the Herbology Professor just as she was leaving; her expression was both sorrowful and relieved at the news of Hannah's return. She thanked Draco for relaying the information but still rushed him back to the castle as it was now dark. With no intention to stay out in the cold longer than he needed to, Draco walked just as quickly back, thinking of a warm bath before finding a comfortable spot in the common room, preferably by the fireplace. A bitter wind whipped past him, bringing with it familiar voices.

"Stop worrying, Harry," a female voice said, her tone insistent. "No one is going to ask – and if they do, we'll just say we were talking about our upcoming match with Slytherin – which we were."

Without thinking, Draco stepped to the side, behind one of the trees lining the walkway; standing as still as he could manage, he watched as Harry and Ginny came into view from the opposite direction. Harry was holding their brooms, looking troubled, while Ginny walked closely next to him. When her shoulder brushed Harry's arm, it seemed to heighten his discomfort; he stopped mid-step and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Ginny spun around and kissed him. "Trust me, okay?" she said to him after. Harry seemed incapable of answering. With a laugh, Ginny grabbed her broom from Harry's hand, kissed him once more, and ran the rest of the way back to the castle, leaving Harry behind.

It took the Gryffindor several long minutes to regain his senses – much to Draco's impatience, as he shivered in the damp evening chill – but eventually Harry continued his way back to the castle. Thinking it wise to wait until Harry was inside before he came out from hiding, Draco thought on what he had just witnessed: to his knowledge, Ginny was dating Dean Thomas – unless they had broken up, and they very well could have; Draco didn't exactly have the time or energy to keep up with the school's gossip those days. But as he finally stepped into the warmth of the Entrance Hall once more, the query melted from his mind even as his fingers and toes thawed.

And he wasn't reminded of it again until the morning of the game, when he spotted Ginny tucked away in the corner of a sparsely populated corridor – with Dean, engaging in an activity that strongly implied that they had _not_ , in fact, broken up.

Which left Draco confused about her kissing Harry the other night.


	40. Part 40

From his position high above the Quidditch Pitch, Draco watched as Ginny Weasley scored yet another goal; the point difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin was now so that even if Draco caught the Snitch, his team would still lose. His curse was torn from his lips by the strong wind that blew over and through the pitch so that even he didn't even hear it. The red-haired Chaser looped over the spectators before zigzagging her way over to her team; arms were thrown around her by many, and those who couldn't, clapped her on the back. Off in the distance, Harry hovered, watching with obvious envy as the rest of his team celebrated; as the team's Seeker, he didn't have the luxury of zipping down for a quick high-five or a hug. Even if Slytherin wouldn't win by catching the Snitch now, it was still a matter of pride to catch the golden ball and end the game – which is one of the reasons why Draco actually enjoyed playing against Harry; he was serious and unrelenting to the end. But finding the Snitch in the gloom and constant gale was apparently difficult for even Gryffindor's star player. As Charlie Weasley sounded his whistle to indicate the restart of the game, Draco tore his eyes away from the crowd below, renewing his search for the Golden Snitch. He had donned goggles for this particular match – a show of commitment to his role as he didn't like wearing goggles (it did nothing for his appearances); they were cast with a spell to enhance his vision, allowing him the ability to zoom in upon verbal command. Harry wore goggles as well, in place of his glasses; he could only assume they too were enchanted, as it would be stupid for them to just be normal. By chance, the two Seekers' gazes met for an instant, and each boy grinned at the other. A crack of lightning struck somewhere in the distance, and as Draco turned in that direction, he sighted a solitary shimmer; he adjusted his goggles and caught a streak of glimmering gold as the Snitch was swept up by the wind. Moving his head as quickly as he could manage to keep the Golden Snitch in view, Draco kicked his broom into action, following its path as it continued to rise. Soon, Harry joined him, flying less than an arm's length away. He said something as he sped by, a blur of red and gold, but Draco couldn't hear what; he had dropped his own speed, watching not the Snitch anymore, but something else – the branches of trees in the distance swaying, a flurry of leaves caught in an oncoming vortex. With a twist of his lips, Draco began to dive at an angle. He granted himself a moment of leisure to watch as the sudden gust drove Harry off course, nearly knocking him off his broom; the Snitch tumbled, just as helpless in the wind. Only off by a few degrees, Draco was now closer to the Snitch than Harry, and he propelled himself forward as the Snitch's fluttering wings finally managed to dictate its direction. With incredible speed, the Snitch turned downward, flying just over the stands, much to the delight of the spectators. Many got to their feet as it rushed overhead, followed closely by the Slytherin Seeker. It wasn't long before Harry caught up once more in the chase. They were neck and neck in their pursuit when the Snitch abruptly stopped; suspended above the teacher's box, neither Draco nor Harry had a moment to slow down before the golden ball exploded.

Draco had only one thought as he was enveloped by the searing flames: he was glad he was wearing the goggles; he might have been blinded otherwise. In his peripheral vision, Draco's mind barely registered several miracles – like the light of a massive defensive shield that appeared milliseconds after the explosion, the shouts of some quick thinking individuals who had the wits to quell the raging fire that was quickly spreading throughout the stadium, and the united act of the teachers in keeping the shattered stand from crumbling beneath their very feet. Ears ringing and vision spotted, Draco also had the vague impression that he was falling – which was when the instinct to survive clutched at every last one of his senses until he _knew_ he was falling. Twisting about, Draco searched first for his broom, only to see that it was far out of reach; his eyes next found Harry, who was tumbling, unconscious, like a doll through the air. The other players were too far to save him, and Draco knew he only had time for one spell – one to save himself or his friend. He grabbed his wand and pointed at Harry.

The Gryffindor's descent was stopped with a jerk; Draco knew he wouldn't be able to keep Harry suspended forever, not at how quickly he was falling himself, but he only needed to hold out until the other Gryffindors could reach him. Maybe – just maybe, if they flew fast enough, he would have time to at least slow himself as he plummeted toward the Earth. One of his own came into view, diving with an outstretched arm, but Draco had to concentrate on Harry; Ron was _nearly_ there.

With a _'whump'_ Draco felt more than he could hear, Ron caught Harry with the help of one of their Beaters. Only then did he look – apologetically – into the face of Vincent, desperation in his eyes to catch him. A scream reached Draco's ears, and somehow, he knew it was Hermione.

* * *

"Wake up."

The voice was familiar, gentle, and affectionate – but still, Draco had no intention of heeding those words. He was much too comfortable in the dark. But the voice was persistent: "Draco, wake up."

"Let him sleep," another voice said with a similar fondness in his tone. "Let him sleep, Narcissa." But his mother was not one to let even the men she loved tell her what to do; Draco felt himself being shaken – gingerly, almost like a tickle. He stirred unwittingly but ungrudgingly, opening his eyes to see the smiling faces of his parents. A sense of shock struck him almost immediately, followed by panic, though he didn't know why. As if sensing this, his mother shook her head, her blonde hair waving back and forth as she did; she hushed him soothingly.

"There, there," she cooed, pressing a warm hand against his chest, which surprisingly calmed him. "Everything is alright, sweetheart." Her hand passed over his forehead, brushing back his hair. Draco's eyes moved from his mother to his father: there was a rare tenderness in his eyes as he beheld his son. And then Draco remembered: he had fallen – out of a tree, trying to reach Imperia, who had flown away from him. He was upset and hurt that his own pet would leave him like that, and chased after her recklessly. He opened his mouth to speak her name, for he was concerned, but his voice was lost. Again, with the intuition only a mother possessed, Narcissa hushed him. "Imperia is fine," she assured him. She turned her head just slightly, her eyes glancing off to the side. "See for yourself."

Barely lifting his head, Draco turned in the direction his mother looked to find the eagle-owl perched on the frame of his bed. For reasons he couldn't explain, a sense of relief overwhelmed Draco; she had not abandoned him after all.

"Relationships – _bonds_ , are a funny thing," his father said, taking a seat on the bed next to his mother. "And the ones that are meant to be will…" he trailed off, looking thoughtful.

"Will?" Draco asked, finding his voice and prompting his father to continue. But his smile only widened and he chuckled.

"You'll see, son."

* * *

When Draco woke up, it was not at the request of someone asking him to, nor did he see any familiar faces upon opening his eyes. The stone ceiling of the school's infirmary was coming into focus just as his hearing started to pick up on the sounds of his surroundings: low voices, the quick shuffling of feet, the rustling of cloth. Somewhere in the far distance, he thought he heard the name 'Harry' being uttered, but he couldn't be sure. And then it struck him, like the bolt of lightning that had illuminated the Snitch: _he was alive_. He would have sat straight up if his body complied, but it would not respond to his will. A soft fluttering brought Imperia into his range of vision as she gently landed on his chest, her weight a welcome burden for him to bear. She clucked at something or someone Draco couldn't see, and he felt something move from the end of his bed.

 _'Well,'_ he thought to himself, eyes still fixed on his feathered companion. _'At least I'm not paralyzed.'_ Footsteps approached, and he soon looked up into the face of his cousin, Tonks.

"Oh thank God," she exhaled with a smile. She grabbed Draco's face with her hands and pressed her forehead against his. Her hair turned as platinum blonde as his own.

"Tonks," he croaked when she finally released him. "What happened? Is anyone hurt? Where's Harry?" He had other questions, but they were halted as a dry cough ripped through his throat.

"Oh, here," Tonks then said, waving her wand over him, releasing his body from its bind. She helped him to sit up before pouring a glass of water. She handed it to him, watching as he drained it in one go. He thanked her when he was done, then looked around: Crookshanks sat at the foot of his bed, staring at him with large, intelligent eyes. Imperia nipped his ear affectionately from where she was perched on the iron bedpost he leaned against. He raised a hand to caress her, and she ruffled her feathers happily as she nuzzled the side of his head. He then turned back to Tonks, searching for the answers to his questions. She took a seat on the bed and wrung her hands. "There was another explosion," she said first, looking both angry and distraught. "The Snitch – no one knows how, but it exploded and wrecked half the Quidditch Pitch. Only by the skill of the professors and some of the students was the destruction … not worse."

The images of fire and falling flashed through Draco's mind, and he closed his eyes, reliving the last moments he could remember. "Harry?" he asked quietly.

Tonks nodded. "He's fine." But there was no relief in her words nor her expression. "Harry is fine, but many others were injured," she continued slowly. The anger and sadness of her expression intensified equally. "Five students died."

The blood drained from Draco's face; he felt sick. Students… _dead_. He wanted to ask who, but then again, he didn't want to know. If he heard their names or pictured their faces, it would be real, and for now, he wanted to stay in the realm of denial. Crookshanks padded his way forward and butted Draco's chin with his head, purring as he paced back and forth across Draco's lap. "Hermione?" he asked, the name little more than a whisper on his lips.

"Also fine," Tonks replied immediately. "She wasn't injured – not her, nor Ron; they're both fine. They're with Harry right now."

"Good," said Draco automatically, feeling relieved, little though it was. "How long ago did it happen?" he asked next. "How long have I been out?"

"Some hours," answered Tonks. She lifted her head and a twinkle came to her eyes as Remus joined them, the man looking tired and upset.

"I'm glad to see you awake," he said, addressing Draco first. He then exchanged a few words with Tonks, none of which Draco really understood. With a nod, Tonks got to her feet and excused herself, wishing Draco a quick recovery before leaving. "The extent of your injuries," Remus said, looking over Draco. "Did Tonks go through them with you?"

For the first time since the explosion, Draco thought about himself. "Injuries?"

Remus nodded. "Between the efforts of Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Professor Snape, you were saved, but unfortunately not unharmed. It was… _chaos_ after the explosion, as you can imagine." With a sigh, Remus ran a hand through his hair before conjuring a chair in which he sat down heavily in. "The Snitch exploded right before our very eyes, and if it were not for Sirius, I don't know how many more would be injured. He cast a shield about all of us – blocking out most of the heat and destructive force of the blast. The teachers were immediately to their feet, ready to rush to the aid of the students, but the risers were on the verge of collapse – we could all feel it. A few of us reinforced them with magic from where we stood, while others worked in haste to repair them enough that we could get off safely. We lost time – too much time in doing that. Dumbledore – through sheer force of will and power, stayed most of the damage and minimized the casualties."

Again, Draco mentally pushed away the thought that people had died that day, during something as simple and trivial as a Quidditch Match. He forced himself to focus on Remus's words as the older man continued recounting the events that had transpired. "Thanks to you, Harry was saved from falling to his death – make no mistake, _you_ did that, and there are no words that can properly express even my personal gratitude for it. Especially when you made that choice at the cost of your own safety and life." He paused to allow his words to sink in for Draco, for the Slytherin to understand the gravity of his actions. "Theodore – from wherever he was, managed to delay your descent; he was too far to stop it completely though, like you had for Harry, but it was enough that Vincent could grab you. Unfortunately, the force was too much for him, and you were both pulled down; too close to the ground, impact was inevitable, but at the last moment, Severus cast a spell that cushioned the crash. Your shoulder was dislocated from when Vincent grabbed hold of you, though it has since been expertly set by Madam Pomfrey; your wrist was also badly bruised. Your leg was broken when you hit the ground; that too, has been mended, though you'll have to use a crutch for support for at least a few days until it has fully healed. You received severe burns to your face and upper body, but with a few more applications of a salve our Potions Masters have just finished in abundance to treat you and many others, there should be no permanent scarring. We did have to cut your hair though."

Draco's hand went to his head as he vainly groped his now shortly cropped hair; first the goggles and now this. He could almost laugh, grateful that he could sulk over such simple things, for it could have been worse. Immediately, Draco admonished himself for his flippant behaviour; others _had_ been injured far worse than he; five had _died_. And on top of these tragedies begged the question of _why_ the Snitch had exploded. Who could have done such a thing – masterminded such a plan, and for what reason? To what cause? Was there an intended target, or was it simply to spread havoc? Was this explosion related to the previous one?

"Before I forget," Remus said, interrupting Draco's train of thought. He handed him a small stack of letters – letters written to him from his mother. "You have every right to be angry," he said as Draco flipped through the pile. "But we had our reasons for keeping them from you." For a moment, injustice bubbled in Draco, but for whatever reason, it didn't last; maybe he was too tired; maybe, in the light of things, he couldn't blame them for being overly cautious.

"Thank you," he muttered instead, putting the letters aside. Both men fell silent for a while, until, with a heavy sigh, Draco finally said, "Will you tell me the names of those who died."


	41. Part 41

In the dark, Ron stared blankly at the ceiling. He'd been lying awake for hours now, staring at that ceiling; he had since memorized the intricate pattern of the design, counted all the markings, and noted even the most minute discolouration of stone in various spots. He knew how many stones high the ceiling stood, and how many stones long from one corner to the next. With a sigh that was shallow yet drawn, for he had forgotten how to breathe, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked around him at the sleeping forms of Harry and Hermione who were in beds next to him; he watched with intensity, the rise and fall of their breaths, unblinking for a long moment before finally getting to his feet. He passed many other beds occupied by the many other students who had been injured in the explosion; some had fared better than others, but at least they had lived. Hogwarts was a school, not a hospital, and therefore, did not have a morgue, but a makeshift one had been created to hold the bodies of the students who had died, and it was there that Ron went. Professor McGonagall stood guard at the entrance, her hardened face sallow from the tragedy that had unfolded just that day. Ron had never seen his Head of House so stricken. She spotted him approaching and straightened herself; she lifted her chin and put on some semblance of composure before addressing him. "Weasley," she said quietly, her voice hoarse.

"I'm going in, Professor," Ron replied automatically.

"Weasley, wait –"

But Ron wouldn't, and she didn't stop him. Pushing the door open, his eyes glanced over the five tables that had been erected, a shroud of each student's house covered the surface, the body laid over top. Magically treated to stall decomposition, the victims looked as if they could simply be sleeping. Two of the five tables were dressed in red and gold – the colours of Gryffindor, of his house, and upon one of them lay someone he should not have been surprised to see: Luna. Pale even in the dimly lit room, her blonde hair was cast across the table on which she lay, mingling with the sunset tresses of his sister's hair. He walked forward, slowly, silently, until he was once more beside her, and once more, he stooped down, leaning past Luna, and kissed Ginny's forehead.

"I can send for Professor Flitwick to come for her," Professor McGonagall said softly from the doorway.

"It's fine," replied Ron, eyes still fixed upon his sister's face. "She did lose her best friend today," he said, taking on the burden of Luna's loss and adding it to his own. He gently slipped his arms around Luna, and as he lifted her, he saw that she had been holding Ginny's hand. The Ravenclaw stirred at being moved, but was too exhausted to wake completely. Professor McGonagall stepped forward to place Ginny's hand back on her chest with the other, shedding a tear of her own as she did.

Ron carried Luna back to the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey found a spare bed for her. Again, he refused a sleeping potion before ambling back to his own bed, where he lay down once more to stare at the ceiling.

* * *

When morning broke, Ron wasn't sure if he had slept; he felt neither tired nor rested. Draco came by, hobbling over from the other side of the infirmary on a crutch, to give his condolences and share in the pain of their loss. Hermione – who had cried herself to sleep the previous night – started to cry again, sobbing into Draco's shoulder as he held her. Bill and Fleur appeared and joined them shortly after; Ron noted that neither of them looked well-rested.

"Dad and mum will be here soon," Bill said, in a strained voice. He sniffed several times before running a hand across his face, leaving it over his eyes a long moment. "And, um, Charlie's bringing Percy and the twins up from Hogsmeade." Beside him stood Fleur, shimmering tears tracing down her pale cheeks; she wiped them with the sleeve of her blouse. Blinking hard, Bill looked at Harry and the others. "If you three would like to join us, please do. You're all family to us – and to Ginny."

Ron's eyes stung furiously as he looked up at his older brother. Bill reached out and put his hand on his youngest brother's head, ruffling his hair slightly; Ron could tell – just from that one touch – that Bill barely had the strength to stand. Forcing a deep breath, Bill nodded before taking Fleur's hand and leaving. For a long while, no one said anything. Hermione had stopped crying, but her face was still buried in Draco's shoulder; Draco himself was looking out the window, his gray eyes glassy and distant. Harry looked just as devastated as he had the day before. After hearing the news, he'd lost it and punched a wall repeatedly until his knuckles were split and bloody. He wouldn't let anyone heal the cuts – not with magic or any potions or salves Madam Pomfrey offered; instead, he roughly wrapped his wounds in bandages, which he allowed Hermione to change for him once, when he had bled through them. They looked like they needed to be changed once more. Without thinking, Ron got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, his voice sounding oddly raspy. The question roused both Hermione and Harry from their personal reveries, and they also turned.

"I'm just going to meet my brothers," Ron answered.

"I'll come with you then," offered Draco.

"No," Ron snapped immediately. Emotionally tired and worn from his loss, he sighed and shook his head, half in apology. "I just want to be alone."

"But Ron," Hermione whimpered, reaching forward to grab his hand.

"It's fine, Hermione," Ron lied, squeezing her hand affectionately before brushing it off. He walked once more past the rows of beds and students, some sleeping, some just lying on their backs or sides, staring blankly as he had for so many hours. Leaving the infirmary, he realized that he was not alone, even though he had expressed his wish to be. "I'm going to see Ginny," Ron said without turning around, his resolution set with his tone.

"I know," Draco said simply, remaining a few steps behind. "I want to see her too."

When Ron and Draco arrived in the corridor, they found Professor Slughorn on duty.

"You'll have to wait," he said to them, placing a heavy hand on Ron's shoulder. "There's another family in there at the moment, here to claim their daughter." The portly professor dropped his gaze and sighed. "You have my condolences, Weasley. It is a terrible, terrible loss; your sister was a bright witch with a bright future. That much I knew the moment I laid eyes on her, and that much could be confirmed from the few times she attended my gatherings. A terrible loss, indeed." He went on a bit longer about some other members of his Slug Club that had met an untimely end, but Ron tuned him out and Draco politely intervened soon after. With a nod, the professor resumed his post, leaving the two boys to wait. Though he had no concept of time, Ron knew they had been waiting quite a while when they were joined by his brothers Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George, and also Harry, and Hermione.

"I thought you might be here, when your brothers came up to find you," she said sheepishly after the Weasley Boys had greeted each other with solemn words and long embraces.

"What are we waiting for?" asked Fred. The number of times Ron had seen the older twin without a twisted smile on his face was so rare, he could count them on one hand; the grief he wore now led one to believe the jokester might never smile again. Ron wondered if any of them ever would.

"There's another family inside," Draco explained.

"Maybe we should wait somewhere else then," Charlie suggested. "Mum and dad will be here soon anyway; we can see her together then."

"I'd like to see her first," Percy whispered, his eyes red behind his spectacles. "Alone, if – if at all possible. Before our – before mum and dad. It's just that…" he trailed off, unable to find the words to complete his thoughts.

"Yeah," agreed George with similar sobriety. "I think I'd like to see her too – one last time before we have to say goodbye."

Charlie nodded at his brothers as one tear fell from his eyes. "So, we'll wait then."

* * *

Ron took a deep breath. The air was cold and bitter as he filled his lungs, but he didn't care; it was good to feel something other than the numbing pain of loss. He watched as yet another student was led down the stairs of the main entrance to the school by their parents. Since the morning, angry and concerned parents had been arriving to pull their children from school, feeling that Hogwarts was no longer safe.

"You alright?" a voice asked him.

Without looking up, he replied, "No," but he scooted over on the bench to allow Harry to join him nonetheless. His friend handed him a bottle of Butterbeer.

"I know," he said staring up at the gray sky. "Me neither." He reached over to tap Ron's bottle with his own before taking a drink. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

It was the first time Harry had really addressed Ginny's death, and for some reason, Ron was surprised. He turned and met the green eyes of his best friend; despite having poured every ounce of emotion and energy into the loss of his sister, leaving him drained and exhausted, Ron felt his chest swell. "Me too," he said, the short words full of meaning. Harry was family; their loss was his loss. Lifting the bottle to his lips, Ron took a small mouthful, swallowing slowly as the liquid struggled to make its way past the lump in his throat. "I've never really known what it was like to be the youngest," he said after a length of silence. The Butterbeer had warmed him from the inside, and Harry's presence provided him some strength to talk. "All my life she's been there, Harry. Pain in the ass as she was, it's what I've known since before I could even understand anything." He clutched the glass bottle between his hands until his knuckles turned white. "And now she's gone." Tears welled in his eyes, surprising him as he didn't think there was anything left in him; he looked down and blinked, then wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "She was my sister, Harry – my _only_ sister. I should have –"He stopped, his mind momentarily clear of grief: he had rushed to save Harry even as Ginny had rushed to save others, and he realized that amidst the many things Harry must have been feeling, he felt guilty – guilty for Ginny's death, and probably the deaths of the others. "It's not your fault," Ron said, his voice quivering slightly. " _It's not your fault._ "

Harry clenched and unclenched his free hand rhythmically; his bloody bandages had been changed almost as soon as Mum had spotted them. The woman had lost her daughter and still had the strength and sense to look after others. Without thinking, Ron reached out and grabbed Harry's hand, drawing up the other boy's gaze. As they locked eyes, Ron watched the tears trail down his friend's face, even as his own fell.

* * *

Term ended early for the Winter Break, and before the remaining students were dismissed, Hogwarts held a memorial service for those who had died. The families of the fallen were also present, sharing the table with those of their child's house. Dumbledore had addressed the student body, faculty, and family members present, though what he said, Ron couldn't remember. Returning home was also a blur. Ginny was laid to rest among other members of their family in a cemetery near The Burrow. It had been a beautifully sunny day, clear skies above, and the coldest wind Ron could recall in all his life, but still, after the grave had been closed and flowers laid upon the ground, they lingered. Ron had the distinct feeling that leaving would mark the end, and he was not ready for that. Not yet. He was one of the last to leave; Harry, Hermione, and Draco had stayed with him, as well as Remus and Sirius. An indeterminate amount of time passed before someone placed a gentle hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Come on," Sirius said gruffly, though not harshly. Ron hadn't realized until that moment that he had been shivering. Reluctant still to leave, he didn't move at first, but after another long moment, he allowed the older man to finally steer him away.


	42. Part 42

"I was the target."

Even though the room was quiet enough that Draco could hear the carollers down the street, someone – being that all his attention had been wrapped around the words that were only just spoken, he wasn't exactly sure _who_ – asked, "Say that again?"

"I believe," Dumbledore repeated, in a clear voice that rang within Draco and presumably everyone else's mind, though he did not speak loudly, "that I was – and still am – the target of these attacks."

It made sense, of course, even if Draco was stunned: Albus Dumbledore was, after all, the _only_ wizard the Dark Lord considered a threat. But it still didn't seem … right.

"But the explosives were –"

"Of Muggle contrivance, yes," Dumbledore finished for Fred, turning his piercing blue eyes with a smile to the elder of the Weasley twins. "As your father has ascertained after the most thorough of tests, the source of both explosions were Muggle contraptions – non-magical."

"Which is why they were able to bypass all of our spells of detection," said Sirius, his voice thick with contemplation. He exchanged quick glances with Remus – the latter showing his concern through the slight narrowing of his eyes.

The wizened Headmaster's smile grew in his apparent amusement. "Most brilliant."

Draco thought that this was an inappropriate time to appreciate the destructive inventions of non-magical minds, but knew better than to say anything; judging from the expressions of those around him, he knew he wasn't the only one.

After Ginny's funeral, Draco had been taken along with the others to Sirius's ancestral home, which he had offered up as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It was expertly hidden in such a way with magic that Draco doubted he would be able to find his way back on his own. The property itself was smaller than what he would have expected for an estate of the Black Family, and was in a state of obvious neglect that he attributed to Sirius's disdain for his bloodline. When Draco offered the services of Winky and Dobby to tidy things up, Sirius declined; he explained (with a quiet loathing) that his family's house-elf was still alive, though he had banished him to the confines of his room – a small den in some obscure part of the house. Draco did notice, though, over the course of the few days they were there, how Sirius allowed Mrs Weasley to fuss over little things like dusting, sweeping, and polishing the silverware; the loving wife and mother also prepared all their meals, feeding every member of the Order who was present at any given time throughout the day.

"So we update the wards to include protection from non-magical threats," Kingsley Shacklebolt said decisively.

"And create a guard for Dumbledore – wherever he goes."

To this, Dumbledore frowned, even if only slightly. "Alastor," he said confidently. "I do not require a guard."

"Even the Muggle leaders of the world are surrounded by men and women who would die in their place," said a man Draco had only met that day. He was tall and imposing, his physique as deadly as the steel of his eyes; from what little was revealed about him, Draco surmised only that he did not work for the Ministry of Magic.

The Headmaster's expression grew evermore stern as he calmly replied, "I will not have anyone dying in my place for me, Etherington. My death is my right, and mine alone to bear."

"And it would be an honour to embrace our own death, if it will but delay yours while the world is in need of you," was Etherington's response, seemingly unperturbed by the older man's admonishment.

"Then, by that logic, Harry should have a guard as well," reasoned Professor Slughorn. A few others around the room nodded, even as Harry's eyes widened incredulously.

"I will protect Harry," Sirius announced, putting a hand on his godson's shoulder.

"Not alone," chorused Remus, who lifted his chin proudly from where he stood across the room.

With a nod, Sirius added, "We will die protecting Harry."

"I don't need anyone _dying_ for me either!" Harry began to protest, but others had already started to speak over him until it was almost impossible to tell one conversation from another. Several times, different people tried to regain quiet over the room, but it was Molly Weasley who finally accomplished this.

"NO ONE IS GOING TO DIE," she said with such authority, even Professor Dumbledore's mouth shut. She took a moment to meet every individual's eyes before continuing. "Would our energies and efforts not be better spent trying to prevent our deaths than deciding who will die for whom?" The brass of even Etherington seemed to lessen at her rebuke. There were a few murmurs of apology in light of Mrs Weasley's loss, but most knew her conviction had only been reinforced by her daughter's death rather than act as its source. "Why use a Muggle device?" she mused out loud, bringing the topic of discussion back around. "Other than to get past all the security spells, that is." After a moment of thought, she added, "Would a pure-blood even know how to make a Muggle bomb?"

"They could have outsourced it," suggested her husband, Arthur Weasley.

To this, Draco spoke for the first time. "I doubt it," he said, his voice cracking from lack of use since the beginning of the lengthy meeting. "True pure-blood elitists are disgusted by anything of Muggle origin, and anyone who serves the Dark Lord would rather face his wrath than resort to the mechanisms of Muggles." He looked to a few others in the room whom he knew to share a similar background, and they nodded in agreement.

"Then who?" Tonks asked next. "Who – other than the Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named –"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore corrected gently. When Tonks' eyes narrowed uncomfortably, the old wizard added, "Or Tom Riddle, if you prefer; they are one in the same, Nymphadora Tonks. One is simply his personal preference."

Through her thinly pressed lips, Tonks conceded. "Fine… _Riddle_ , we'll say – who, other than the Death Eaters and _Riddle's_ other followers would want Dumbledore dead?"

A silence settled upon the room, broken only after long minutes by Bill, who spoke sombrely; "Since returning to Hogwarts, I've heard students express their disapproval of having their magic restricted and kept secret outside of the school. Some commiserate with each other on growing up in Muggle communities where they faced discrimination and bullying for petty things; oftentimes, they discussed how life might have been had they been allowed to use magic openly."

"It's true," Hermione said quietly. "Some don't agree with the Ministry on these terms."

Draco nodded. "Many," he added, thinking of his own House and even his friends, "believe the Magical Community to be superior, and shouldn't be confined to live in secrecy."

"This malcontent is nothing new," chuckled Slughorn, his hands, which lay upon his round belly, rising and falling with his breath. "Why, back when I was in my prime as Potions Master, I had many a stern talk with students who saw fit to 'practice' on Muggles during holidays – because, as you know, magic in the form of potions is an even trickier thing to regulate."

"But if it was _les étudiants_ , would we not know?" asked Fleur.

"A non-student would be hard pressed to get onto the school grounds, no less into the school itself," said Professor McGonagall. She cast a hard stare in the direction of Sirius, Remus, Fred, and George in turn – all of whose faces seemed to brighten momentarily. "Besides, it wouldn't be the first time Voldemort has recruited students to his cause." A rush of murmurs swept through the room, and several people glanced in Draco's direction. With a quiet sigh, McGonagall added, "I know we all have our prejudices, but if it _was_ a student, it could be _any_ student."

A few people argued on varying points, though all obvious, such as the historical and statistical inclination those of the Slytherin House had for the Dark Arts. There were counter-arguments, names of Wizards and Witches Gone Wrong who hailed from different Houses, as well as a list of Good Slytherins. It was, in Draco's opinion, a waste of time to allow the arguments to continue as long as they did as it was apparent no one was really listening to each other; the other students seemed equally uninterested.

"Perhaps the Dark Lord has grown desperate!" a short and round-waisted Wizard shouted, getting to his feet.

"The Dark Lord does not grow desperate," Professor Snape replied simply. His cold stare turned to Dumbledore and his lips twitched slightly as he fought back a sneer. "He may grow impatient, but desperation implies a weakness that is foreign to Him."

"Any number of the students could have been put under the Imperius Curse," the short and round Wizard continued, as if Snape had not said anything. He too turned upon Dumbledore. "You're acting a fool, Dumbledore! You could be surrounded by assassins and not even know it!"

Fleur jumped to her feet, her beautiful blonde hair flashing as she swept it behind with a slender hand. " _Comment insolent!_ " she hissed. She carried on in her native tongue until Bill stood to placate her; from what little French Draco knew, he recognized that Fleur had been defending Dumbledore and the students. He was also pretty sure she had called the other Wizard an ugly imp.

"If any of the students were under a curse, we would know," Bill assured anyone who was listening.

In a slightly less kind way, Snape bolstered the statement by adding, "Yes, and the level of competency among the students is closer to 'blundering idiots' than 'assassins'." This time, he allowed himself a cruel smile. "And do you really think Dumbledore could not handle himself? Why, not even any of us in this room could so much as scratch the lens of his spectacles in a duel."

The short, round Wizard appeared affronted but said no more. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't still take the extra precautions," put in Alastor Moody, speaking calmly and evenly. "There's definitely a piece missing in this puzzle, and until we know what it is, I'll not be losing Dumbledore or the boy on my watch."

Tonks seemed suddenly excited. "Oh, oh!" she cried, bouncing on her toes as she pulled on Remus's arm in a playful manner. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

Moody's magical eye rolled several times in its socket. "Merlin's Beard, Nymphadora; are you an Auror or are you a monkey? – And if you make a face, so help me, I'll find someone else to do the job." The roots of Tonks' hair – which had been turning brown from its pastel pink, reverted quickly, but she didn't stop smiling.

* * *

The meeting was adjourned shortly after as the night had settled, and stomachs had begun to rumble. Nothing had been concluded in the many hours of discussion, though it seemed there would be a lot of action taken. Most left – including Bill, Fleur, and the twins – leaving behind only a small number for dinner at the Black Estate. To Draco's disappointment, Hermione was not staying either, but she pulled him aside before taking her leave.

"You'll be at the Burrow with Harry and the others over the holidays?" she said, reaching up and brushing back his hair. He nodded. "Good. You'll be safe then." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Let's meet up; after Christmas – and _no gifts_." Her eyes lowered as she undoubtedly pictured the last present Draco had given her. He lifted her wrist to observe the silver bracelet she wore; it had been a _part_ of his gift to her, but now there was a charm on it. "It's enchanted," she said, looking proud. "Because… you never know." She shook her head as if to shake out the thought. When she stopped, Draco kissed her again. "I have to go," she said softly after.

"And what if I don't let go?"

Hermione laughed. "Then I'll take you with me – although, then I'll have to bring you back and that would be a hassle." Having turned seventeen some months ago, it had been arranged for Hermione to take the Apparition Test early due to her closeness with Harry. But when he still didn't release her, she sighed. "Draco, I have to go," she said once more. Reluctantly, and after one last kiss, Draco let his arms fall from around her. He watched from the open doorway as she walked the necessary distance before she could Disapparate. And then she was gone.


	43. Part 43

Molly Weasley was as unwilling to allow Draco and Hermione an unchaperoned date as the two students were unwilling to be followed around on their date. As Draco pointed out: it killed the mood.

"The mood for _what_?" Mrs Weasley had demanded in her overprotective objection of the romantic outing.

"Oh, you know," George interjected with a quirk of his lips. "Probably the same kind of thing you and Dad got up to when you were about their age."

At this, the older woman's cheeks flushed and her scowl deepened. "Absolutely not," she protested once more. "Your safety is more important than anything else right now; you can date when you're older – and when the world isn't roiling about in war."

Draco narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He wasn't exactly sure why the Weasley Twins were even present for this particular discussion, and between George's comment and Fred's constant snickering, they certainly weren't lending him any aid.

"We're _already_ dating," Hermione corrected matter-of-factly.

"Don't you get technical with me, young lady," Mrs Weasley snapped back. "You know what I mean. If you two want a bit of time alone, you can sit out in the backyard."

"Backyard? It's the middle of winter right now!" Bill exclaimed. Draco shared in this indignation, though he didn't like the chuckle that followed the eldest Weasley's words. "Mum, be reasonable." He put an arm around Fleur's slender shoulders and she gazed lovingly up at him. "Surely Professor Dumbledore would say we need more love at a time like this."

"Well, Dumbledore isn't here," the matriarch pointed out. " _And_ it was Dumbledore who made Arthur and myself responsible for Draco."

That, unfortunately, settled the matter. Fortunately, Tonks was the one who volunteered to take up the position, and, as things turned out, she was no more interested in being an audience to Draco and Hermione's romance as she was in them being witness to hers.

"Here's the deal," she said, laying out the rules before they parted ways in Diagon Alley. She had ditched her robes for a dress with a short skirt and a pair of thigh-high boots to match; her hair – which was suddenly long – was a charming shade of indigo, braided, and looped over her head like a headband. "This," she pressed a small compact into Hermione's hand, "I will lend you for the day. The mirror connects to this one," she held up a second, similar compact, "which I'll have. You will check in with me every hour, on the hour." Both Hermione and Draco nodded. "Good," Tonks said with a smile. Then she continued. "If there's trouble – well, you'll have to do your best depending on the circumstances – but contact me through the mirror or using your Patronus as soon as the situation allows," she looked at Hermione for this as it was common knowledge that Draco still could not conjure a Patronus. "Finally," the Auror raised her wand and waved it over Draco and Hermione both while chanting in a low tone; the air about them seemed to waver, and it felt to Draco like having flour sprinkled over them. "That was a Distortion Spell. Your appearances have been altered so that anyone who might know you, won't be able to recognize you." Her smile turned suddenly sheepish, and she added, "Including each other."

Draco glanced at Hermione and was momentarily shocked to see that she _didn't_ look like herself. "Is this really necessary?" he asked Tonks, trying to sound reasonable rather than rash. The older witch crossed her arms and blew up a loose strand of her indigo hair.

"Well, if you don't want to abide by my measures, I think Charlie or Sirius might be available to baby-sit."

"What about Remus?" Draco asked, thinking his former tutor the only member of the Order he'd tolerate as a chaperone. At least he might mind his own business and allow them some independence.

Tonks' cheeks reddened slightly as she replied through pursed lips, "No, not Remus. He's busy today."

"It's fine," Hermione said with a sigh. She put a hand on Draco's arm and forced him to face her. "Look at me," she said. " _Really_ look at me. See? We're still kind of recognizable to each other – I mean, I can tell it's you, even if it's not you."

She was right – _of course_ , she was right. As Draco stared into his girlfriend's face, he realized that despite the overall appearance being different, there were features, certain aspects that were definitely her.

"We're good then, yeah?" Tonks said, clapping her hands together. She nodded at each of them, as if the gesture would encourage them to agree so she could be on her way.

"Wait," Draco said, before she could all but run off. "How long will this spell last?"

"Until I remove it," she answered simply. "And I'm the only one who can – it's a special security feature I worked into the spell. Someone might be able to detect that you're wearing a spell, but it can't be undone by anyone but me."

Hermione looked impressed. "That's really incredible!" she exclaimed.

Tonks smiled and whirled her wand with a shower of purple sparks. "Ain't an Auror for naught, Granger." She snapped her wand back to an upright and ready position just as she clacked her heels on the cobblestone beneath their feet. "But, there are other ways to figure out who you two are – your wands, for example; there's no hiding who you are by way of your wand, so keep that in mind before you do anything stupid – 'specially you, Cousin; you're still underage. So _be smart_." She glanced down at her wrist-watch, then looked once more to the young couple. "Now, are we good on the questions?" After a firm nod from both Draco and Hermione, Tonks disappeared in a puff of violet smoke.

"Well, she seemed in a bit of a rush," Draco commented, leading Hermione out of the corridor where they had met with Tonks. "Who do you suppose she's seeing?" Despite the haste, it was clear Tonks was excited – giddy, even, which was saying something considering her already cheerful disposition. Hermione turned to stare at Draco; he smiled inwardly, glad that her eyes had remained wholly unchanged.

"Boys," Hermione muttered with a laugh before looking away. "Though I have an idea, it's not my secret to share."

"I thought couples were supposed to tell each other everything," Draco countered with a sly smile.

Hermione met his gaze once more, held it a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "Do you share _everything_ with me, I wonder?"

Unwittingly, an image of Harry and Ginny kissing in the dark shadows of Hogwarts entered his mind, and his smile nearly faltered. From what he could gather, whatever had happened between them had stayed between them, and now Ginny was gone…

"You know everything I know," Draco lied easily enough. Whether or not Hermione believed this as fact, he wasn't sure, and it was impossible to tell from her listless expression. Part of him couldn't help but feel proud, but another part missed the honest face of the girl who had thrown books at him in righteous anger. "So, where would you like to go today? Flourish and Blotts? Or would you prefer to get something warm to drink first?"

Hermione came to a stop, pulling Draco by the hand to a halt as well. "Actually," she began, "I was thinking maybe we could visit London."

"We _are_ in London, Hermione," Draco reminded her, raising an eyebrow.

"No, Draco. I mean London proper – Muggle London."

* * *

Hermione had spent copious amounts of time trying to explain various Muggle concepts to Draco before; most times, he hadn't really listened, merely nodded along with the rise and fall of her voice while making exclamations at what felt like the appropriate times. Now, he wished he'd paid at least a little attention. Hermione had brought him to Regent Street, and under the glowing lights of the elaborate holiday decorations, Draco Malfoy could only stand and stare. They were surrounded by a horde of people – holiday shoppers, tourists – foreign and local; friends meeting for the first time in months; strolling couples walking hand-in-hand. Somewhere, someone gasped, "Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it absolutely magical?" The exclamation amused Draco; magic he understood – _magic_ , he knew and could do. This, however, was not magic, and to the young Malfoy, it was simply unfathomable.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Hermione whispered, pulling herself closer to him, squeezing his arm a little tighter. "Mum and Dad used to bring me every year to see the decorations. Just think, how many hundreds of hands had to put these ornaments in their place, how many volts and watts of electricity course through these lights day after day, night after night." She sighed with a blissful contentment. "All without a lick of magic. It's just… something else. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"You know, Hermione," Draco said, glancing down with a half-smile. "I don't get any of it." He laughed when she rolled her eyes at him, then kissed her on the head. "But it is lovely."

In all his years, Draco had never really experienced Muggle Society; every place he'd travelled to, he'd remained within the Magic Quarter, never straying past the magical barrier that kept the Muggles out and oblivious to their existence. As he stared at the multitude of clothing stores, he realized he'd never even been shopping; his family had people who did that for them – curated their clothes, purchased the selected items, brought them to the estate, and before tailors who would ensure the perfect fit. A couple times, Hermione wanted to stop and shop – much to Draco's dismay. He followed her around like a helpless duckling, eyeing every person who passed them, wary for reasons even he didn't understand.

They walked and shopped for several blocks before popping into a café for a break from the cold. "That will be £11.00," the cashier said after ringing up their items. For a moment, Draco could only stare at him.

"Pardon?" he asked, thinking he hadn't caught the amount correctly.

"£11.00," the cashier repeated, then, seeing Draco's expression of bewilderment, once more. " _Eleven. Pounds_."

Hit with a sudden dread like a brick to the face, Draco realized he didn't know what 'Pounds' were, and he certainly didn't have any in his wallet. Hermione gently elbowed him to the side, drew a paper note he didn't recognize from her purse, and handed it to the cashier. While Draco continued to gape at the exchange, Hermione took their tray and carried it to an empty table, where she set their things down, took her seat, removing her coat and scarf, then waited for her boyfriend to regain his senses.

"That's Muggle money?" he finally managed to ask in a harsh whisper, dropping into the seat across from Hermione. She nodded once with amused patience.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

She pushed their refreshments to one side and placed her purse on the table, then rifled out some paper notes and coins – none of which Draco had ever seen before that day. She explained to him the different bills and coins – the value of each, the magical equivalence, and the rough rate of exchange offered by Gringotts between the two currencies. She gave him a simplified summary of the British Muggle banking system, comparing the similarities and differences with Gringotts. Most of it, Draco felt he had a gotten a good grasp of, though he didn't feel ready for a Muggle monetary exchange himself.

Before leaving the café, they checked in with Tonks as per their arrangement, though it seemed Tonks was the eager one to end their communication.

"What do you think she was all excited about during the last meeting?" Draco asked as they walked aimlessly through the streets. Hermione shrugged, making some off-hand comment about how Tonks got excited over little things. Draco was just about to point out that Moody's involvement would imply that such a thing was not 'little', when they came upon a large group of people gathered off to one side. Curious, Draco and Hermione stopped to investigate; it appeared they were congregating around something or rather someone. Hermione's grip on Draco's hand suddenly tightened, and he looked down as her eyes lit up.

"Draco!" she exclaimed excitedly. "It's Street Magic."


	44. Part 44

It was challenging enough to learn regular Magic formally, so when Hermione started motoring off an explanation on what Street Magic was and the other various forms of Muggle Magic, Draco had to stop her.

"I can barely understand electricity and the internal combustion engine," he said to her. "Can we not go into this now?" Hermione opened her mouth, either to object or force learning upon him anyway, so he kissed her into silence. When he stepped back, he did so slowly, checking to make sure he hadn't upset her with this course of action.

"Fine," she conceded, her expression half-mollified, half-you'll-pay-for-that-later. "Just watch, then."

The act comprised of one man standing at the centre of the crowd. He started with a deck of cards, selecting at random someone to choose one, another to sign it, and a third to put it back in the deck. He then proceeded to shower the cards over the audience. It seemed silly, and Draco wondered for a moment if perhaps the man was inebriated.

"Sorry about that," the man said quietly, his accent American. The audience chuckled amongst themselves, several stooping to pick up the fallen cards. "No, don't worry about those," he said to them. He looked about the crowd, studying the people standing at the forefront, and after a moment of concentration, indicated a woman holding a package. "You, Miss. I know – I know this sounds crazy, but could you open up that present?"

She pointed at herself, mouthing the words, "Me?" to which the Street Magician nodded. She glanced around her as if still unsure, then turned to the people beside her: they smiled at her encouragingly. The woman opened the package. The chosen and signed card was beneath the wrapping paper. The crowd erupted into cries of disbelief, shock, and amazement. The woman held up the card for everyone to see; it passed between several hands – back to the person who had chosen it ("That's it! That's the card!"), and to the person who had signed it, ("Oh my God; that's my signature!").

"How did he do that?" Draco exclaimed before he could stop himself, unable to comprehend the trick.

"I have a few theories," Hermione said with a satisfied smile. "I've studied a lot on Magic – Muggle Magic – since I learned I was, well, you know. It's mostly illusionist stuff – sleight of hand, misdirection – things like that. That woman is probably a stooge – someone who's working with the performer – and –"

"But _inside_ the parcel? _Under_ the wrapping?"

"I'm not… entirely sure; maybe a really clever pass off, while everyone else was distracted."

"And what about the signature?"

"Well, I'm not an expert, but, well, maybe they were in on it too – signed a card ahead of time."

"But how would they know _which_ card would be picked – and don't say all _three_ of them were in on it."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Draco, I don't _know_ , okay?" She glared at him, as if he had done a terrible thing, forcing her to admit that she didn't know something. Despite her looks being rather different, there was something very 'Hermione' about it. "Maybe they're all part of the act, or maybe none of them are. Maybe the magician's combined several different tricks into one really grand one. Maybe it's –"

"Maybe it's _just_ magic," a third person suggested, joining in on the conversation. Draco and Hermione turned slightly: a young man who appeared to be in his early-twenties with sandy-blonde hair and blue eyes smiled at them.

"Well of course it's magic," Hermione replied with a huff, directing her vexation onto the stranger. "That's what it's called, after all."

"Ah, but what _is_ magic?" the man pondered out loud.

"That's awfully philosophical," muttered Hermione with a roll of her eyes.

"Is it though?" the man asked, turning to fully face them now. "Is magic simply philosophical? Theoretical? An idea assigned to explain that which cannot be explained? Could this talented magician not simply be capable of doing what he's shown himself to be capable of doing?"

Hermione crossed her arms and regarded the man with a new interest; she was never one to turn down a thought-provoking conversation, no matter with whom she conversed. But Draco's instincts were telling him to disengage. "A conversation for another time, another place, and perhaps, with other people," he suggested genially, trying to steer Hermione off by the shoulders, but she shook him free.

"Nearly everything can be explained," she argued. "The so-called-magician is capable – as clearly demonstrated – at his chosen art, but how he achieves his results is as pragmatic a process as – as baking a cake."

"Some people would call the chemistry of baking magic," the man retorted.

"Yes, my point exactly: it's what people _call_ it. But baking is a science."

"Oh, I rather it a hobby."

Draco watched as the sandy-haired man chuckled at his own quip. There was something about his laid-back demeanor, the way he had so casually entered the conversation, the ease in which he discussed the subject that unsettled him, and the more Hermione talked with him, the more uncomfortable Draco felt. No: not uncomfortable; vulnerable.

"How about we suppose I don't understand science; baking then, would be simply magical. One moment you've got all these separate things and the next, _voilà_ : a cake."

"Science can be explained."

"But explanation does not always beget understanding."

"The lack of understanding does not discount the way things actually work!" Hermione replied, her voice growing shrill. "If one does not understand, one should be compelled to pursue the knowledge through education." The sandy-haired man's lips twitched – a tell – and what it told Draco was that he wasn't really having a debate with Hermione – he was sussing her out.

"I couldn't agree more," he said, his voice a low hum. He drew his hand from his pocket and offered Hermione an invitation. "The so-called-magician is having a smaller, more intimate showing in a few days' time. You two should come; experience magic on a different level."

Hermione took the card cautiously, as if it were something dangerous – and Draco couldn't help but feel that it was. He was just starting to internally monologue how there was no way he or Hermione would be anywhere near that venue when yet another uninvited voice cut in – but this one, he recognized.

"Emmett," she called, her voice coming from where the crowd had dispersed. Draco inhaled, ready to take Hermione by the hand and run, but then he remembered they wore Tonks' Distortion Spell. He exhaled and turned toward the voice; Colette looked more or less the same as when he first met her a couple of months previous, except her dark, purple-streaked hair was now tied back in a ponytail. He forced himself to relax and trust the spell. "Oh, hello," she said to Hermione and Draco with a pleasant smile – one that did not display any hint of recognition, though she seemed to study them a moment. "Sorry for the interruption." She turned to the sandy-haired man – Emmett – and lowered her voice slightly. "We're getting ready to move."

"Another show?" Draco dared to inquire, keeping his voice neutral and curious.

Again she smiled. "The Holidays are a good time to make a few quid off the crowds," she said, though Draco – who recalled from his earlier lesson with Hermione on Muggle Money, that a 'quid' was just another way to say a 'pound' – didn't remember any part of the act involving money. She noted the invitation in Hermione's hand. "You guys should definitely come and check out the show though; there'll be more than one act and believe me – they'll be nothing like you've ever seen."

* * *

"No," Hermione protested, stamping her foot into the snow. They had returned to the Burrow after meeting up with Tonks and having the Distortion Spell removed. Much to Mrs Weasley's satisfaction, Draco had asked for a private moment with Hermione in the backyard before rejoining the other holiday residents of the Burrow. "We either do it together, or we don't do it at all."

Draco stared at Hermione: she stood at a distance from where he sat on the back steps, having paced back and forth as she worked through her thoughts. After witnessing Colette's interaction with Emmett, Draco knew he had to take up their invitation to the next show, but he loathed for Hermione to be involved. "We don't know enough," he said, trying to sound reasonable even though the whole situation sat poorly with him. "And I'll not have you at risk."

"And you think I'll allow for you to be?" Hermione argued.

"I'm not asking your permission, Hermione."

"And I'm not asking yours. We do this together or not at all." She walked the distance between them and folded her arms as she came to a stop, staring down at him with eyes that were stalwart and fearful. "Or I'll tell someone, which will likely get us both locked up here or back at school with a chaperone a piece following us until the end of this bloody war." She exhaled, her breath hanging in the cold air, and sat down beside him. Then, more quietly, she added, "Besides, I'm a better student than you."

"I hate to break it to you, but knowing the names of the goblin rebels of all the Goblin Rebellions isn't going to help in a real fight," Draco retorted, biting his words a bit more harshly than he'd intended.

Hermione hardened in reaction to his tone. "Have you forgotten that I fought at the Department of Mysteries? And many times before that."

Draco frowned. He would have rather not recalled to mind the image of Hermione's prostrate body at the Department of Mysteries amidst their battle against Death Eaters, or the look of terror when they were crawling through the Shrieking Shack in their third year; he didn't want to think of the time she had to enter the Forbidden Forest with Harry and Dolores Umbridge and encountered the Centaurs who had only just barely spared their lives, and not without spilling their blood. He closed his eyes as he remembered the shock of the first explosion, of the relief he felt when told Hermione – who hadn't been with him – was safe; of feeling similar relief when he learned she had survived the second explosion though it had taken the lives of five other students, including one of his closest friends. He couldn't say it, but the thought of losing Hermione threatened to steal the breath from his lungs, and not in a good way; his entire body ached, his heart constricted with trepidation unbearable. And he knew – just knew – he would never survive her death, that Hermione's death would equate to his own.

"I have not forgotten. It's _precisely_ why I don't want you to be there."

"Together or not at all," repeated Hermione, her words as steely as her gaze.

Draco put his head in his hands and breathed rhythmically, breathed away the fear and anxiety and pain of what would be the greatest loss he had not yet experienced. When he looked up, he put his arms around Hermione and hugged her tightly. "Not at all, then," he whispered into her ear. Hermione drew back, surprised, but slowly, she nodded. She took the invitation from her coat pocket and gave it to Draco.

"Are you sure?"

With his eyes fixed on her, he ripped it, letting the pieces fall to the snow at their feet. He understood the war they were embroiled in, understood there were consequences to both action and inaction, but if it came down to priorities, he would see the world burn before leading Hermione into danger. He brushed a hand through her hair, his fingers getting tangled as he pulled her forward and kissed her. After, he rose and pulled Hermione up as well; with the matter settled, he ushered her into the house where it was warm and their friends were waiting for them. But before he closed the door behind them, he glanced once more at the torn invitation.

"Perhaps we shouldn't leave rubbish lying around to be carried off in the wind or worse, found by Mrs Weasley," he said with a half-smile. Hermione nodded and Draco took out his wand, and with a crack, Winky appeared. "Gather up those pieces," he commanded her. Then, in a low whisper, he added, "And keep them safe."


	45. Part 45

Draco stared at the invitation – which had been magically repaired by Winky – and wondered how he might attend the event without Hermione accompanying him; he wasn't sure how strict the rules were, how vigilant the organizers might be, how good Emmett and Colette's memories were, or if they would be there themselves at all. Somewhere in his heart, Draco knew lying was not one of the things couples did to maintain a good and healthy relationship, but some things were unavoidable, and if he needed to lie to Hermione to keep her safe, he would do so without remorse. To make matters worse, Tonks had suddenly disappeared the day immediately following their date, and no one would say anything about where she was, or when she might be back – which meant Draco wouldn't be able to reassume the appearance he had when he'd first met Emmett. As himself, Colette would also recognize him, and he wasn't sure that was something that would work in his favour. With a loud sigh, he ran his hands over his hair – which was still short, having nearly been shaved – and dropped the invitation back on the night stand next to his bed.

"You've been staring at that paper and sighing for a while now, mate," Ron said without looking up at him from his book – a tome on broom-making he'd received for Christmas from Ginny. She had bought her family and friends Christmas presents which she had hidden in her room; it took some work finding them all, clever as she was, and it was a bittersweet thing to receive gifts from a lost loved one. "Issit another letter from your mum?"

"Yeah," Draco said slowly, vaguely aware of how easy it was to lie to his friends. He sat up and stared across the small room at Ron, who was leaned against the wall, nose buried in his book. "I'd like to go see her, but you know how things are right now with security and worries that the world is going to end. Plus, I don't think they really trust my mum even though she's been staying with her sister this whole time."

Ron made a pensive noise. "Well, you're right about that: Mum and Dad aren't likely to let you out of their sights, and with Tonks disappeared, and Remus and Sirius both busy with … whatever they're busy with, you're not likely to find any suitable chaperones either."

"Where's Harry?" Draco asked. The question drew Ron's eyes away from his book for the first time since he picked it up, though he merely gazed over the edge without focusing on anything in particular.

A month or so ago, Ron would have made a quip or retort about how Harry wasn't any more suitable a chaperone than he was himself – and then laugh at his own joke – but now, he half-heartedly answered, "Dunno." But everything he did those days was a bit half-hearted. His brow furrowed a little though, as if not knowing was disconcerting, and slowly lowered his book. "He said he was going for a walk earlier. He couldn't have gone too far; he's the one who's allowed to do the least out of all of us." As if this simple statement ensured Harry's safety, Ron grabbed a pillow, fluffed it before throwing it behind him, and turned his attention back to reading. Draco watched him a moment longer before rolling off the bed, slipping the invitation into his pocket, and walking out. He wandered around the whole of the Burrow, finding Fleur having a Floo conversation with her younger sister, Mrs Weasley doing the laundry with Winky, and Charlie watching a Muggle sport on a handheld Muggle device, but no Harry. He walked through the kitchen and peered out the window into the backyard: it was snow as far as the eye could see with no sign of boot prints.

Feeling more inconvenienced than concerned, Draco tried to summon Dobby, but when he didn't appear, he asked Winky (excusing her for the moment from helping Mrs Weasley) to locate the missing all-important Boy-Who-Lived, Child of Prophecy. With a snap of her bony fingers, Winky Disapparated with Draco only to reappear some distance from the house, but still within sight of it, and huddled beneath a lone-standing, ancient-looking tree was Harry and Dobby. The negligent house-elf had apparently cleared a large patch of snow and conjured a fire that kept them comfortable; he had also stopped the snow from falling just over them, making it seem like they sat within a dome. Draco and Winky approached slowly.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, smiling at the other boy. He shivered as Harry gestured for them to sit by the fire and with two cracks, Winky had disappeared and reappeared with thick blankets, a tray of biscuits, and other refreshments. Dobby looked a bit ashamed having clearly not thought to make Harry as comfortable as Winky was working to, and got to his feet to help the other house-elf put a kettle of water over the fire. For a long while, neither Draco nor Harry spoke, and simply sat in each other's company and in the company of Winky and Dobby, who prepared for them a rather nice repast under the snow covered branches of the tree.

"Had to get out," Harry said quietly at length, his words muffled behind a handsome hand-knit herringbone scarf he wore. It was his gift from Ginny. Draco suspected Harry found it difficult to be in the Burrow without Ginny around anymore, and with Ron so subdued in his grief. He also suspected, not having anyone to talk with about his feelings for Ginny and whatever relationship they had before she was killed, was slowly eating away at him. _On top_ of all the war and being prophesized as the only one to kill the Dark Lord business. "Too many people, you know?" he added with a weak smile. It was an unconvincing lie that made Draco think, _'If you aren't going to tell a good lie, you may as well not tell it at all.'_

"Have you tried talking to Ron or Hermione about it?" Draco asked. Harry – who had barely made eye contact since he joined him – didn't respond, not even acknowledge the question. Unsure if he should proceed with what he was going to say next, Draco wondered for a long moment if Harry wouldn't maybe rather work things out on his own. But – and not without a sigh – he pressed on. "I know I'm not Ron or Hermione," he said, "nor Sirius or Remus – or anyone else you'd probably approach first to talk about something like this or anything at all even, but… if you want, you can talk to me."

Harry wrinkled his nose in a half-frown, half-smirk. "What are you going on about, Malfoy?" he said with a hard laugh, still not looking up.

"I mean Ginny," said Draco pointedly.

"We're all devastated by her death," Harry replied sullenly. "I mean, just look at Ron."

"Yes, that's true but… I rather your bond with Ginny to have been less 'brotherly' and more – well, _more_."

When Harry didn't say anything to refute this claim, Draco explained. "I happened upon the two of you kissing one evening, and not in a 'just friends' manner." When Harry _still_ didn't speak, he asked, "Or was it just a kiss?"

Harry's eyes suddenly shot up, the green vibrant with the truth. "It wasn't just a kiss," he said in a harsh whisper. "But what does it matter now anyway? She's gone."

"It matters, Potter," Draco insisted.

"Why?" he demanded in return. "Why does it matter? How can it possibly matter? She's gone, Draco – _dead_. And there's nothing I can do about it, nothing I can do to save her." In a flash, he was on his feet, fist drawn back, then slammed into the trunk of the tree. "They wouldn't even grant me a goddamn Time Turner!" he shouted so angrily, it caused both Dobby and Winky to cower behind Draco. "I just needed – an hour,"

he punched the tree again,

"one _effing_ hour,"

and again

"– even thirty minutes,"

and again,

"– something – _anything,_ "

twice; once for each word. And then he stopped.

Knuckles rent and bleeding, he leaned his head against the unyielding trunk of the ancient-looking tree, and though Draco heard what he said next, it seemed the words were for himself only. "I just needed one more moment with her." He then turned around and made Draco and the two house-elves witness to his next words. "I swear: I'm going to kill whoever caused her death."

And Draco believed him. The truth was in those green eyes turned monstrously dark; in the blood dripping from the self-inflicted wounds on his hand; in the steadiness of his vow. If Harry felt for Ginny what he himself felt for Hermione, he wouldn't be surprised if he razed the entire country to exact his vengeance. But despite Harry's sense of justice resonating with Draco on some deep level, it scared him as well.

Draco had Winky heal Harry's wounds, countering his refusal with the simple reasoning that bloody knuckles would raise questions he probably didn't want to answer. The two boys remained outdoors until Ron was sent to retrieve them for supper; they hadn't talked much about anything after Harry's honest outburst, but for whatever reason, Draco felt that the two had grown a lot closer.

* * *

"What were you two doing out there all afternoon?" Mrs Weasley asked them at the dinner table, trying to keep her tone casual and conversational. Draco noted that while Ron looked their way, he seemed about half as interested as his mother was.

"Nothing really," Draco replied, catching Harry's gaze and frowning slightly after the other boy's eyes had darted from his hand to Dobby – who had then nearly dropped the platter of potatoes he was carrying – before meeting Draco's. Mrs Weasley didn't seem convinced in the least, but as neither Draco nor Harry would say anymore, she moved on, turning her attention to the Twins. Being situated in the hub that was Diagon Alley, they had access to all sorts of information that most people were only too willing to share; the problem was sorting out the facts from the general gossip. The biggest news was the apparent and sudden halt of Death Eater activity.

"One day, you're waiting to hear how many and who've been killed, and the next… nothin'. It's been like that for three days now," George said, helping himself to another few slices of roast turkey. "I mean, it's great and all, like they disappeared, but –"

"No," Arthur Weasley said pensively from where he sat at the head of the table. He rested his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table beside his untouched meal. "Not disappeared, I fear."

"But it's a good thing, isn't it, Dear?" his wife asked, looking more concerned than relieved. "It's got to be a good thing."

Mr Weasley turned to Mrs Weasley and gave her a small smile before placing his hand over hers. "No, you're right, Molly. It is a good thing – no deaths is a good thing."

"It doesn't feel right, does it though?" Bill murmured. He was sitting next to Draco and turned suddenly on him. "You haven't heard anything, have you, Draco?"

Surprised by the unexpected question, Draco's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish for a moment, unable to formulate words. "Wha – How – How could I?" he asked in return. "I've not been allowed communications or contact with anyone who might know anything. And I'm not so sure anyone I know would even tell me anything anymore."

Mr Weasley sighed, then spoke, his words sounding a bit strained. "We've people better positioned than a sixteen-year-old schoolboy under constant surveillance for things like that Bill," he said. "We'll know soon enough what they're plotting, what they may be waiting for."

"Well, all that good stuff aside, my good man George here hasn't shared the _best_ news of all yet," said Fred, getting to his feet ceremoniously.

"Got yourself a girlfriend, did you?" Charlie gibed, wearing a smirk.

George laughed, but Fred ignored him and continued on. "It is with great pleasure that I announce that our store – Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes – is no longer at risk of being set on fire." The announcement garnered a sharp inhale from Mrs Weasley while Bill and Charlie applauded their younger brothers with a sarcastically slow clap; everyone else simply stared on blankly. "Thank you, thank you," Fred said, taking short bows. "After much arduous research and testing, my esteemed partner and I have managed to come up with a fire-retardant charm that need only be cast once –"

"Though we've still a bit of testing to do before we're 100% sure of its permanency," added George.

"That will repel and withstand the worst of any magical or non-magical fires."

"Have there been fires set to your shop previously?" Mrs Weasley asked, her pitch growing more shrill with every word. "Why have I not heard of this until now?"

"A few small fires is nothing to grow anxious over, Mum," said George with a sideways glance at his twin.

" _A few?_ " repeated Mrs Weasley, narrowed eyes darting between the two.

"Really, Mum; only a handful," said Fred, numbering them out on his hand.

Their mother slammed her hands on the table before jumping to her feet. "You should have told me! The store should have been shut down after the first flame – or even the moment you thought there was a chance that something like that could happen!"

"This is exactly why we didn't want to tell you," argued George.

"What good would shutting down the shop do? How would we make any money?" added Fred, whose counter-points only made Mrs Weasley more upset. "Look, Mum, I hate to say it – and I know we've all been through a bad time losing Ginny, but the World knows where we stand in this war, and that's made us unpopular with some people. We get that, which is why we're working so hard. We didn't want to tell you until we'd worked up a viable solution – and we have! So worry not anymore."

It was, in Draco's opinion, difficult to argue with their logic, though it didn't stop Mrs Weasley from continuing her tirade for a bit longer. Throughout the remainder of the evening she wore a scowl, and set the Twins on dish duty, specifying that it was to be done without assistance and without magic.


	46. Part 46

A couple of days ago, Draco had been wondering how he might manage getting to the magic show, but now he stood just a block and a corner away, receiving detailed, convoluted, and wholly unnecessary instructions from his handlers.

"Now remember boys, act natural," said Bill, fussing over Draco's shirt collar in a worse manner than either of their mothers. "Just be yourselves – but not yourselves. You know what I mean. Charlie and I will be here, waiting; the house-elves will be posted by the exits; if anything happens…"

"… Run as fast as you possibly can," finished Charlie who was brushing back Theodore's bangs – Theodore, who was under the guise of Hermione under the guise of her Distortion Spell – which, in the absence of Tonks, had cost both Draco and Theodore quite a lot of pain to take the same appearance via Elf Magic.

Draco glanced at his Slytherin companion, still finding it somewhat disconcerting how readily he had been willing to help. He knew things weren't as simple as they seemed – Theodore had said this himself the day he'd come to the Burrow, after Draco had told him everything, and Draco knew both the Order of the Phoenix and Theodore had their own purposes for the partnership.

The idea had been Bill's, inviting Theodore over, and he had orchestrated and executed the whole plan with Fred and George after relentlessly teasing Draco for being a 'goody-two shoes' who never broke any rules (and who therefore wouldn't be any good at it, even if he'd started now). Even with sponsorship, Theodore had to undergo nearly an hour of screening by two separate members of the Order before he was allowed into the Burrow.

"You don't seem at all surprised," Draco had commented, after sharing about the magic performance and Colette's apparent involvement. "I mean, it might not mean anything but still, I thought –"

"I don't think it means 'nothing'," Theodore had interjected. "We're beyond the point of mere coincidences, wouldn't you agree?" As it turns out, despite being in contact with Vincent, Theodore had learned nothing more about Colette through him, though it seemed to him that their friend was putting a bit of distance between himself and the other Sixth Year Slytherin Boys. "Which means," Theodore summarized, "that he's either receiving a lot of pressure to join Lord Voldemort and the inner circle of Death Eaters, or …"

"… Or?"

Theodore shrugged. "Or he's already joined up. You're under the protection of Professor Dumbledore," he went on, scribbling on a blank sheet of parchment absently, "while I've been adamant in taking my time to decide. Plus, with the Woman near her due date, we've had Burgess put up some pretty clever Repelling Charms. If I were them, I'd focus my efforts on Vincent Crabbe as well; can't afford to lose another Bloodline of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"You mean like the Weasleys and Longbottoms?"

The scribbling didn't stop and Theodore didn't look up. "Oh, you haven't heard," he observed as casually as if they were discussing the latest sock patterns being sold at the Sock Emporium. "Parkinson," he finished flatly.

"You mean _Pansy_ Parkinson?" asked Draco, seeking clarification.

"The Dark Lord had agreed to provide her the opportunity to prove herself – she tried and failed. But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named –"

"You mean He-Whom-You-Named-Just-Earlier?" Draco quipped, smiling sardonically at his friend.

Theodore pressed on without acknowledging the comment but returned the smile. "– 's fixation would not so easily forego an heir of pure blood, and so he offered her a measure of forgiveness – under calculated conditions."

"And how exactly do you know all this?" asked Draco. Again, Theodore responded with no more than a knowing smile. "What were the conditions?"

He shrugged, a slow and deliberate gesture. "I don't know. Pansy refused."

Draco was shocked, and confused. "She _refused_ the Dark Lord? Can you even _do_ that?"

"Of course you can," scoffed Theodore, though there was less certainty in his expression. "It's just not an easy thing to do… And Pansy … Well, she didn't outright refuse to his face – though Greg, who heard from his father, said Lord Voldemort's anger was terrible, and they thought he might even end the Parkinson Family then and there. He didn't, of course. He's, at the very least, too practical for that. He might demand Pansy's parents produce another child, but …"

"What about Pansy though?" Draco asked. He recalled the incident surrounding her bandaged arms, how he had suspected that maybe, they hid behind them the Dark Mark. Her behaviour at that time however, was anything but boastful and triumphant – something he would have expected of her should the Dark Lord show her any favour. "Was she … forced?"

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord considered that – it might have even been his next command, but she beat them all to it."

"How?"

Theodore paused, a shadow passing over his face as his expression changed to one Draco had rarely, if ever, seen on his friend – a look of sincere concern. "She tried to kill herself, Draco."

Draco was stunned. _'The blood,'_ he thought to himself, furrowing his brow as he drew up the image of red spots on stone floors. _'She wasn't hiding the Dark Mark; she was hiding her wounds.'_

"Her parents didn't know what to do after the first attempt," Theodore continued. "Professor Snape stepped in and convinced them to allow her to return to Hogwarts, not only to complete her education but so that she might also rethink her desire to … die."

In light of Theodore sharing this information with him, Draco, in turn, shared his observations and that one particular interaction with Pansy. "Apparently her mood upon returning to Hogwarts was no better than when she was at home," explained Theodore, "and she had somehow procured a cursed knife which she used just once, near the beginning of the year. One of the ghosts found her in the water closet, and Professor Snape brought her to Madam Pomfrey for immediate treatment. The wounds wouldn't close right away though, as was the nature of the blade."

"Why did she confide in you?" Draco asked next.

Theodore went back to scribbling on the parchment. "She presented me with a proposal and I demanded from her the truth. She told me everything – I think maybe, especially after her friendships deteriorated, she was actually relieved to tell _someone_. Plus, she was somewhat desperate to convince me of the deal."

Draco had never really liked Pansy – though he had to admit that he had liked her sycophantic attention when he was younger and considerably more stupid. But they had been at odds for the past few years, and he never thought even once to consider how she had been affected by the return of the Dark Lord in any manner of way. He found, upon Theodore's intelligence, that now he felt a little bad for her. Death was a finite thing, and for someone to choose that over the infinite possibilities of life was, to him, sad. Looking at him, Theodore seemed to express in a small and weighted smile that he had experienced a similar revelation. "To an extent, we need to look after our own, don't we?" he mused out loud, his voice quiet and pensive. "The standing questions being: to what extent and whom we consider 'our own'."

The two lapsed into silence which was broken when Draco asked, "What was her proposal?"

But before Theodore could answer – though, judging by his change of expression, he had no intention of providing one – they were interrupted by George who announced to them that they had come up with a 'solution to the problem'. "But you boys had better gather your britches about you because it won't be an easy one."

Bill held out his hand to Draco and Theodore. "Wands," he said at last. With visible reluctance, the two Slytherins placed their wands in the care of the eldest Weasley. The tension of the moment dissipated as Theodore slipped his arm around Draco's and pulled him about.

"Come on now, _dearest_ ," he said with a smile that was nothing like Hermione and everything like himself. "That's not the face of someone who's on a date with his love." The intrigue in his eyes deepened. "Ready to see something incredible – and who knows what else?"

In a moment of clarity, Draco remembered that, despite the Weasleys bringing this all about, and despite Theodore's insight and participation, this was originally _his_ idea – and now that everyone had set things up for him, it was time to take charge. A wry smile touched his lips as he took Theodore's hand and kissed it lightly – as he would Hermione's. Bill and Charlie tried hard not to laugh. "You're right," he returned, his smile morphing into one of utter charm. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us, we have a show to catch."

Thankfully, Draco had given Theodore his memories in advance to review so that he could familiarize himself with Emmett and his interaction with Hermione that day on the street, so when they were greeted at the door by the devil himself, Theodore had no problem carrying on with their initial rapport. After a brief chat, they were escorted through into a room that was small and dimly lit; a faint musk of old cigar and stale alcohol hung in the air, presumably from at least an age before, absorbed into the very bones of the building. There were several other people already there, milling about the bar or seated at the cluster of round tables set out before a stage. Draco didn't recognize anyone.

"Fancy a drink, _sweetheart_?" teased Theodore.

"Don't call me that," growled Draco under his breath, putting a slight strain on his smile. "That's what my mother calls me." Theodore did not refrain from laughing loudly, drawing the attention of a few bystanders. "You know, my grandfather taught me never to hit a woman…"

"And that's precisely what I appear to be, _muffin_." Theodore winked at the bartender as he placed two glasses of wine on the counter. "Besides, we're in public. Muggles, brutish though they are, are particular about their violence."

"You won't _look_ like a woman forever."

Theodore raised his eyebrows. "You can certainly try," he laughed. "Would be interesting; we've never dueled before."

Just then, they were approached by a young woman with short, dark hair and bright purple eyes that Draco couldn't help but stare into. "I love your scarf," she said to Theodore.

"Oh, this thing?" replied Theodore with a natural cheerfulness that was a startling contrast to his usual tone of flat disinterest. "A Christmas present from my grandmother."

"She's got wonderful taste. It looks vintage."

"What she's got is money," giggled Theodore. "Sweet old woman sends me a few quid every holiday and tells me to treat myself to something nice. But it _is_ vintage – picked it up from a vendor on Portobello."

The other woman's eyes widened with envy. "You're so lucky." The arrival of two newcomers caught the woman's attention, and she excused herself in a hurry.

Draco and Theodore took a seat at a table strategically located near the side exit; they chatted quietly as they watched the others around them, waiting for the show to start. Colette had yet to make an appearance, and Emmett was still posted at the door. "You'd think an organized event would begin punctually," complained Draco, checking the time on his watch. But Theodore's eyes were fixed on someone who had just come in from the back – someone they knew: Vincent Crabbe. Draco and Theodore exchanged knowing glances and kept a discreet eye on their friend as he moved about, stopping to talk to a few people before getting a tumbler of something from the bar – which he drained in one mouthful. _'What's he doing here?'_ Draco wondered to himself as Vincent exchanged a few words with the bartender, who then pointed down a hallway that presumably led to the interior of the building.

"We should follow him," suggested Draco to Theodore. With a nod, Theodore took his purse and pushed back from the table. He walked to the bar where he asked directions to the water closet, then disappeared down the same hallway Vincent had only moments earlier.

A few minutes passed, feeling like many more to Draco as he waited at the table. Footsteps brought his head around. "Where'd your friend go?" asked Emmett, sitting down in Theodore's seat.

"Ladies room," replied Draco shortly, not liking how Emmett referred to his date as merely his friend. There was the chance he didn't want to be presumptuous, but Draco didn't think it was a high one. "You know, when the invitation said the event started at three o'clock, I assumed it would actually begin at three o'clock."

Emmett laughed. "I get that the invitations make it seem like a toff's affair, but we're really a low-key sort who like to have a drink and a gab to start. Paper was just the easiest way to advertise selectively."

"Why selectively?" asked Draco.

The other man shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "Because magic isn't for everyone." He gave Draco a quick smile before getting to his feet. "Don't worry mate. Show will start soon. Have another drink in the meantime, eh. Oh, and when your friend gets back, tell her I'd love to talk after the show – see what theories she comes up with."

Draco waited another five grueling minutes before Theodore returned. "What took so long?" He griped irritably. "Another minute longer and I –"

"Shut up and listen," Theodore shot off, falling into his chair. "They're behind the bombings – Colette and Vin," he said gravely. Draco stared at his friend as his gaze quickly darted about the room. "A group – the lot of them."

"You're sure about this," asked Draco, trying to retain his composure.

Theodore sat back and tapped the diamond earring he wore; the other was missing. "Which means we're likely here as potential recruits to their band – and cause."

"What do we do?"

Theodore fell silent, drumming his fingers on the table as he thought. "Well," he said after a short pause. "We came to find out if something was going on – and we've discovered there is. Now, if we want to know _exactly_ what that is, we'd better act recruitable." The lights in the room dimmed and the din of conversation fell to a hum, interrupted only by the sound of chair legs scraping against the old wooden floors as people began to take their seats. Theodore shuffled closer to Draco and took his hand. "Time to enjoy the show, I guess."


	47. Part 47

Draco spent much of his time after the magic show by himself while Theodore and Emmett talked. He couldn't hear much of what they said from where he stood by the bar, having excused himself from their conversation which he didn't understand, but he could tell it was far from over. He sighed.

"It'll be a long night if you let Emmett have his way," the bartender said with a laugh. He leaned on the counter after pushing a bottle to Draco with a wink.

"Not sure what you mean," said Draco stiffly, looking from the bottle to the bartender.

"Trust me: you'll enjoy it better than the wine you had earlier," the bartender assured him, glancing at the bottle, then back at Draco. It wouldn't be hard; the wine had been truly terrible, and Theodore hadn't even finished his glass. The bottle was unmarked and unlabeled, but there was something about its shape that was familiar to Draco. "It's a bit hard to describe – a bit like cream soda, a bit like root beer, kind of butterscotchy…"

"What did you say this was?" asked Draco, eyeing both the bottle and the bartender warily. But the bartender didn't answer. Instead, he swiped the bottle off the counter and drank from it, letting out a gasp of enjoyment after.

"In my defense," the bartender said, ignoring Draco's question, "the wine I poured you is one of the worst things I've got on the rack – and you clearly hated it. So why did you finish it, I wonder? Your _friend_ didn't bother to." Before allowing the observation much thought, the bartender brought up another bottle, uncorked it, and this time, held it out to Draco, waiting for him to take it rather than just leaving it on the counter. Slowly, Draco reached across the bar and took the bottle. With a smile, the bartender tapped his bottle to Draco's and took another drink. This close, the scent was unmistakable: the bartender had given Draco a bottle of Butterbeer. Fighting a sudden surge of confusion and panic, Draco took a sip from the bottle, swallowed, and regained his composure by focusing on the sweet, effervescent liquid as it trickled down his throat. The bartender looked at him expectantly.

"Do you routinely serve your customers swill?" he asked, the question raising one of the bartender's eyebrows and turning the corner of his lip up into a smile.

"Not to your taste?"

"On the contrary," replied Draco, taking another slow sip of the Butterbeer. "I was talking about the wine."

The bartender laughed. With a nod to Draco, he tipped his bottle back, draining the whole of it in a few large gulps. "So, what did you think of the show?"

"Honestly, I found it impressive," Draco replied truthfully. "Though," he added, "I don't understand any of it." Even if _real_ magic had been involved, Draco couldn't conceptualize how the act might have been put together, what sequence of spells might have been used, and how one person could handle it alone. The showmanship aspect was equally remarkable: the performer had been casual, involving the audience in a very low-key manner, but still managed to shock and surprise them with every turn.

"I think that's the general idea," noted the bartender. "There's something in witnessing the so-called impossible that makes a person think – and not just about how it's done, but about … bigger things."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Like monetizing? I've heard of large-scale magic shows – not something I've ever taken an interest in, admittedly – but from what little I know, they've been around for a while."

"Not exactly what I mean," the bartender replied with a smile. "Think about it in a more practical sense, maybe. What could be _accomplished_ if, let's say, magic was real." A long pause settled between the two men, and, with an encouragingly playful smile, the bartender thought to add, "hypothetically, of course."

"Hypothetically," Draco repeated. He sighed. "There's no point in pondering something so far-fetched," he said, resolutely.

"Especially when the general infrastructures of our modern-day society aren't remotely prepared to even _imagine_ something like that happening in their wildest imaginations," added Theodore, joining Draco at the bar. He took the bottle from his hand and had a sip, frowning at the taste. "Time to go, _love_ ," he said, putting the bottle down with a thud and taking Draco's hand.

"Nice talking to you," said Draco with a farewell nod to the bartender, who reciprocated as Theodore dragged him away.

* * *

They exited promptly and walked in silence to their meeting spot with Bill and Charlie Weasley. Though they couldn't see them, they knew the house-elves followed in tow.

"Well, hello there, love birds," greeted Bill with a grin upon seeing the two. "How did things go?"

"Fine, I think," answered Draco as they fell in step, everyone walking together now. "We learned –"

"Are we sure we aren't being followed?" Theodore demanded roughly.

"Motely is positive, Master," answered the invisible voice of Theodore's Family house-elf. His tone was surprisingly cultured, devoid of any squeakiness or gibbering; his use of third person was also strangely dignified.

Theodore turned his gaze on Draco next. "Best not say anything until we've returned to a safe location."

But the Burrow was – as the boys found out too late – _not_ a safe place; for when they arrived, there was much hostility to greet them. Theodore was taken home immediately after they were painfully reverted from their disguise, without a moment to even say goodbye. As for the other three…

" _William Arthur Weasley_ ," growled an irate Mrs Weasley. "And _Charles Reginald Weasley_." Her narrowed eyes darted between her two eldest sons, each cowering in turn though they both stood heads and shoulders above their mother. "You had _no right_ to steal away Draco, and onto Muggle streets, no less. You lied to us – _deceived_ us; and after we trusted you to even allow that Theodore Nott to visit!"

"Mum, just listen, please," pleaded Bill, but his mother waved him into silence.

"There is _no reason_ good enough for an act of such –"

" _Believe us_ ," interrupted Charlie, imploring his mother as well. "Like we've been saying all along, there's more to –"

"SILENCE!" Mrs Weasley shouted, her wand snapping to the ground, sending angry tendrils of lightning across the stone floor. Draco winced at both the sound and sight of the matriarch's wrath. But any sympathy he might have felt for Bill and Charlie was pushed to the side as he turned his gaze once more to his own mother, seated quietly at the kitchen table. She hadn't said anything since their return, hadn't even moved except to tighten the press of her lips when she saw her son. Molly Weasley said a few more things, her low, grumbling words interjected here and there by exclamations that were like the lashes of a whip; Draco honestly wasn't sure which was worse. When they were dismissed, she turned sharply and began fussing over a kettle set over the kitchen hearth. She poured the steaming water into another pot before setting a whole tea tray on the table. Sullenly, she placed a cup and saucer of fine China before Draco and his mother, then another for herself and Mr Weasley – who had been present all along, but had said nothing.

"Draco." His mother had spoken softly and yet her voice reverberated through Draco's skull. "You have caused your hosts a grave inconvenience," she said. "Apologize."

Draco turned in his seat to face Mr and Mrs Weasley. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. Mrs Weasley sighed and smiled wearily; Draco couldn't help but notice how drawn she looked, and Mr Weasley…

"Now," continued Narcissa Malfoy, "explain yourself: Where were you, and what were you doing?"

"I – I can't," replied Draco. His mother's eyes narrowed and he found his own gaze dropping to the table. "It's hard to explain and … there's a lot I can't say."

"Well, you heard the boy," said Mr Weasley quite suddenly, much to Draco's surprise. "Time to go then." He stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor.

"Arthur, wait, Narcissa hasn't even had any tea yet."

"The boy is safe and that's all we agreed to, Molly," said her husband, voice strained and words clipped. Draco looked up: Mr Weasley was already halfway to the back door where, Draco knew, three members of the Order waited on the other side to escort his mother back to her sister's home.

"But that's not … polite," argued Molly. "She's our guest."

"Dumbledore asked us to watch _him_ ," he all but shouted, turning a finger on Draco. "And I've accepted that, but I will not have _her_ ," the finger switched to Narcissa, "in my house."

"If you're so displeased to host my son," said Narcissa, standing to pour tea into the waiting cups, "I would gladly take him with me." She placed the pot back on the tray with measured grace, but remained standing, fixing her eyes on Mr Weasley. "If we're to be held hostage by your Order of the Phoenix, we may as well be jailed together."

"You're in the auspicious care of your sister," Mr Weasley said, his words slow and deliberate. "If it were up to me, you would be housed with your husband."

Narcissa straightened slightly. "And what crime have I committed to warrant Azkaban?"

"You are an accomplice to the crimes of your husband."

"So, a woman should be condemned because her husband has done wrong?" Narcissa scoffed with a derisive laugh. She raised her chin and allowed any vestige of humour to leave her face before speaking again. "I admit that Lucius has made some poor decisions, but the only thing I have ever done is try to keep my family safe, if not together."

This time, Mr Weasley did not respond. He went to the back door and pulled it open, waiting for Narcissa without prompt. Draco's mother swept her way around the table, pausing once to give Molly a short word of thanks, and a second time to embrace Draco. "Be strong, sweetheart," she whispered to him, "and be smart." Mr Weasley cleared his throat impatiently. She released him but Draco stopped her, grabbing her by the hand. They had only been apart less than a year, and yet she seemed smaller than before, more demure; had he grown or had she diminished, he wondered.

"I want to go with you," he said abruptly. He loved the large family lifestyle he had come to know living with the Weasleys over the summer and through the winter break, but his heart ached for his own family.

"That – But that's –" Mrs Weasley began, stammering a bit as she rose from her seat.

"That's not up to you, Draco," Mr Weasley supplied, looking directly at him for what he felt was the first time. Arthur Weasley had never seemed imposing to Draco – certainly not with the mockery he suffered at the words of his father – but the way he stood and spoke now left no room for argument. Draco felt his mother squeeze his hand before she slipped away, walking gracefully to the door. She paused on the threshold:

"Perhaps I will take that matter up with the Headmaster then."

* * *

The next time Draco saw Theodore was after their return to Hogwarts.

"Well, at least you're still alive," his friend said with half a smile, cuffing him on the shoulder. "Can't say I was surprised that Fred and George refused communication with me, but I'd at least hoped they would send word that you were well."

"Surely you didn't think I was really dead," asked Draco skeptically. Theodore shrugged.

Draco wanted to talk about their small undercover operation, of course, having never had the chance to debrief or discuss what they had learned, but speaking privately at school did not come as easily as he hoped. They were immediately bombarded with lessons of increased difficulty, and equally challenging homework, and while the other teams were taking a break from Quidditch practice, Slytherin's Captain had decided otherwise, reasoning that should games resume, they would have the advantage. And then there were Apparition Lessons, which most students in their year were taking in preparation for the Ministry test.

Bill and Charlie were just as busy as the students were, though they had expressed to Draco (and presumably Theodore as well) that they wanted to meet as soon as the opportunity arose, and that they were not to speak to anyone else beforehand – which was easy enough to do, as Draco had no inclination to share with his other friends what he had learned of Vincent's involvement with the explosions at school and the consequent fatalities. As for Vincent himself, he had not returned to Hogwarts after the holidays, due to safety concerns expressed by his mother – or so the other Sixth Year Slytherins were informed by Professor Snape upon start of term. Vincent Crabbe was only one of many though, and while the hallways and Great Room were always bustling and full of life, there were noticeable gaps here and there, missing students who had been formally withdrawn for similar concerns.

"Have you heard from Vincent?" Draco asked Gregory and Blaise as the four of them set out to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Both boys shook their heads.

"Not since before the holidays," mumbled Gregory.

"Which, by the way, thanks for sending me a holiday card," remarked Blaise, glaring at Draco.

"I told you," he huffed, responding with a roll of his eyes. "I don't do holiday cards. Must I repeat myself _every_ year?"

"It's a good tradition," insisted Blaise, levelling out his shirt sleeve with his robe. "Highlights from each year; you can compare and see how much you've done and …" he trailed off as the other boys stopped to stare. "What?" he defended, brushing past them. "When you realize the brevity of life, you'll understand just how precious memories are."

Upon arriving for class, they were surprised to find Remus standing at the head of the room.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," he said to them with a small smile.

"Is something wrong with Professor Black?" one of the girls asked, clearly disappointed their handsome teacher was absent.

"Settle down now, please," Remus insisted.

As class carried on, Draco noticed Theodore frowning.

"What is it?" he whispered, nudging to catch his friend's attention. With barely a turn of his head, Theodore nodded at Remus, who was carrying on with a particularly complicated sub-variation of an already difficult counter-curse. Without further elaboration, Draco simply … paid closer attention. And that's when he noticed it: the hint of a bored expression, hidden behind a smile that now seemed forced; the slightest glint of condescension in his eyes as they flickered over the class – a little too frequently.

"Do you have a question, Draco?" Remus asked, meeting his searching gaze.

"Actually, Professor, I do: I was wondering if another variation could be formed with the counter-curse you taught us in our Third Year."

Remus closed his text and turned – no doubt to hide a smile. "Many spells are derived of basic fundamentals," he began to explain. He snapped around suddenly, wand in hand, but Draco was not caught unaware; he and Theodore had too, drawn wands, and moved away from their spot. "Very good," praised their teacher with a dark smile. "But you should have attacked first." He turned his wand on himself and the remainder of their class gasped collectively as 'Remus Lupin' morphed into 'Sirius Black'. He clapped his hands slowly as Draco and Theodore took their seats again. "Yes, I think one point apiece for figuring that out," he said, rewarding their merit. "But I'll be taking ten because, one: you should have figured it out sooner, and two: you should have acted quicker." The class held their breath lest someone groan at the injustice and have more house points deducted as was the wont of their professor. "Human Transfiguration," he summarized, "will be one of the most difficult lessons you will learn this year, and while I've no doubt Professor McGonagall will teach you all well and good, it is my responsibility to impart upon your impressionable minds how to detect and counter the technique."


	48. Part 48

Detention.

"Yeah," said Bill, though it was more of a tired exhale. He cleared a stack of books off his desk while Charlie laid out a plate of biscuits and water. Fleur sat quietly on the couch by the fireplace, reading a book on her lap. "It's always the simplest things in the end, isn't it? Though, I wish I'd thought of it earlier."

"But… _detention_?" It was difficult for Theodore to get over, having never received detention in his six years at Hogwarts. Even if it was only a cover for their meeting.

"We couldn't very well just keep on waiting, now could we?" said Charlie with a smile. "Time favours no one, but he's particularly not on our side; we've received word that a few key members of the Ministry have gone missing."

Draco thought he heard Bill grumble the word "Fudge" as he placed an armful of musty scrolls on an already overladen bench. However, when he turned to face them, he was smiling as usual. "Now, shall we get straight to business?"

Draco looked at Theodore before beginning. "Well," he said, drawing out the word. He related to them Vincent's appearance and the bit of conversation they caught between him and Colette – how they were responsible for the explosions at Hogwarts. It wasn't the most detailed telling, and at the end, it was apparent Bill and Charlie had many questions, but, for some reason, held off on their inquiries.

"Thank you," Bill said after a long pause, and after a heavy sigh. "I'm glad we managed to work together on this, gentlemen."

"If I may, Professor," Theodore said quickly after, sensing that they might be dismissed. He rose from his seat, casting what Draco thought was a quick smile his way as he did. "I know your Order of the Phoenix likely expressed some opposition to my reunion with Draco over the winter break, and, as a show of gratitude – and faith – I'd like to share with you some additional information that may lend to your cause."

The Weasley brothers exchanged glances, and Draco noted that Fleur shifted in her seat, though she didn't look over. "Go ahead," said Bill with a nod.

"Very well. It is my belief that, while his involvement is undeniable, Vincent Crabbe did not orchestrate the attacks and attempted assassination of the Headmaster – because, let's be honest, that much is obvious – nor do I think Colette is the mastermind either. I think whatever they're involved in is much larger than you think – and it's clear that you, Professor, and probably a select few others, such as your brothers and fiancée, believe there _is_ another group moving in this conflict." Theodore paused, allowing the opportunity for reaction, but when it seemed neither Bill nor Charlie nor Fleur would, he carried on. "They're an organization comprised of Wizards, Witches, and Muggles, and my best supposition as to why they're targeting the Headmaster is because they're out to revolutionize Wizarding Society, and Professor Dumbledore is a pillar to the current institution."

"That – That's a lot to swallow at once, Theodore," commented Charlie with something between a hiccup and a laugh.

When Theodore was sitting once more at the table, Bill looked him in the eyes. "Revolutionize how?" he asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine on that – but, judging from the crowd they gathered, maybe a sort of integration between the magic and non-magic worlds."

Draco straightened in his seat. "The Minister for Magic," he said.

"Is likely a target as well," agreed Theodore.

"And the Muggle Prime Minister?"

Theodore shrugged. "Anything could happen."

The room grew uncomfortably silent. "What do we zink?" said Fleur, breaking the pensive atmosphere. She had finally turned, leaning leisurely on the arm of the couch to face them. "Infiltration? Reconnaissance?"

"Shouldn't we talk to … the others first?" asked Charlie, looking to his brother with obvious uncertainty.

"They won't believe you if your source is Draco and myself," answered Theodore for Bill. "And they already have difficulty believing you; they probably still think it's Death Eaters." Draco narrowed his eyes at his friend, wishing he wouldn't be so smug at a time like this; he wanted to learn more before being escorted out.

"Is that true?" asked Draco, trying to sound innocent in his curiosity.

"Nothing's perfect," said Bill with a smile before waving off the question and moving on. "I'm assuming neither of you have heard anything from this group since that event?"

"I guess we weren't the type they were hoping to recruit," mused Draco out loud. Again, Theodore merely shrugged.

"What about zis Colette? Can we not find her? Detain her? Force her to speak?"

"Things don't quite work that way, my love," Bill replied, meeting Fleur's gaze.

"Well, maybe it should, zen," she remarked, turning away and back to her book. "Is not zee point of doing zings differently to be different?"

Bill sighed. "Anything else you want to share with us, Theo?" he asked.

Theodore smirked. "Not for free, no."

Bill's smile tightened, and he suddenly looked very tired. "You're not making this easy for us. As you said, we're having a hard-enough time trying to convince the elder members of the Order that things have changed since the last war – that people can be trusted despite their blood status and affiliations, that everyone should be given a fair chance."

"The principles of Professor Dumbledore; I'm surprised your own Order is struggling to adhere to that," Theodore noted, donning a sympathetic grin.

"Apparently, the fear and distrust runs deeper than we 'young ones' can understand," explained Bill tersely. His smile faded as he regarded Theodore from across the table. "Are you proposing a fee or a trade for your information?"

"A trade," answered Theodore.

"And what would you like?"

* * *

"You have to know," said Draco, as he and Theodore walked back to their common room, "that neither Bill nor Charlie, nor even Fleur has the authority or clout to give you what you've asked for."

"Perhaps – although, I think you're forgetting that the French beauty is part-Veela," replied Theodore, causing Draco to laugh a little, unwittingly. Theodore sighed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his robe. "They may not be in the position to fulfill my demand, but they're connected to the people who can." He slowed a little, his long and lanky legs moving at a more leisured pace. "Unless, of course, you enjoy being their _pet_." While the Order had allowed Draco more freedom and involved him in more matters, he knew they had simply given a bit of slack to his lead – an implication Theodore made plain right before requesting that the Order relieve Draco from their custody. "Don't be so surprised," he added with a knowing smile. "I do nice things every now and then."

Turning the last corner leading to their common room, they found Hermione leaning against a wall, reading.

"Are you waiting for me?" Draco asked, walking up to her. He smiled as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"There's an emergency prefect meeting," she informed him, putting her book away and waving at Theodore as they parted ways and set out for the meeting. "Did you really have detention with Bill?"

"With _Professor William Weasley_ , yes, we did," confirmed Draco.

"For what?"

Frowning slightly to himself, Draco answered, "For performing poorly on the last quiz, it would seem."

"Really?" Hermione looked at him questioningly. "History is one of your better subjects – and I can't imagine Theo doing poorly in _any_ subject. Is everything alright?"

Draco sighed internally, then took Hermione's hand in his, entwining their fingers. "We haven't had a moment to ourselves for a while, and you want to talk about detention?" He brought her hand to his lips.

"You know," Hermione said with a cynical sort of smile. "You and I are going to have to start telling each other the unabridged truth sometime."

"We will," replied Draco, mirroring her expression. And he meant it.

"Have you talked to Luna recently?" Hermione asked next, expertly switching subjects as they continued their way. Admittedly, Draco had barely seen the Ravenclaw fifth year since returning after the winter break, and he hadn't the time to search for her, though he had wondered how she was holding up. "I'm really worried about her," Hermione said quietly, squeezing Draco's hand. "She won't talk to me – she's actually gotten to avoiding me – me, Harry, Ron, even Neville."

"She'll be at the meeting," Draco assured his girlfriend, hoping his words would be true. As it turned out, he would not be made a liar, but Luna pointedly avoided them, seemingly disappearing only to reappear on the opposite side of the room whenever they tried to approach her. The Head Girl called the assembly to attention and everyone quieted down.

"There are going to be some changes going forward," said Angelina Johnson without preamble. She looked over all the prefects with an expression of practiced determination. "But first: Connor Maynard of Ravenclaw, will retain the title of Head Boy, and will not be replaced for the remainder of this school year. This same decision has been made for Ginny Weasley of Gryffindor." Her eyes went momentarily to Ron, taking a breath before continuing. "I know all of you – like Connor and Ginny – acted quickly and bravely during the incident on the Quidditch pitch, and for your actions we counted fewer casualties than we might have. On behalf of the school and the faculty, the entire student body, parents, guardians, and the Ministry, I thank you." There was no applause for the prefects, no congratulatory words for persevering under difficult circumstances, but each one looked around the room, meeting the eyes of their peers in recognition of what they had done – the lives they had managed to save, despite the ones they had lost. After allowing a moment, Angelina pressed on. "Going forward, Prefect Patrols will be accompanied by at least one senior year prefect, as well as a Professor, at all times. Also, our emergency procedures have been updated and outlined in this handout. Fifth Year prefects: please ensure these are posted on the bulletin boards in your common rooms; Seventh Year prefects, please review them with your house in the morning. Please take special note of the increased severity and subsequent penalty of breaking curfew, which applies to _all students_ , including prefects who are not on duty."

The meeting went on for quite a while longer, mostly reviewing updated procedure and security in the school. Near the end, it was announced that Quidditch would be postponed until further notice; Angelina's personal message on this was to tell any "Quaffle-heads" who asked, not to hold their breath. Draco personally felt he might not play Quidditch ever again. After everyone was dismissed, a few of the older prefects gathered around Angelina, and could be overheard asking about news or leads on the investigation. Catching Hermione and Ron's eyes, he motioned for them to linger behind to eavesdrop on the older students' conversation.

"Nothing's reached me," said Angelina with a sigh. "I don't know what they're looking into, and I can't seem to find anyone doing anything in particular. I've asked McGonagall so many times, she's threatened to set me on detention for the rest of term if I don't stop."

"Snape seems convinced it's just another prank," shared one of the Slytherin prefects.

"Or he just doesn't care," offered her partner with a snicker. "But the attack was too broad to be a hate crime against Mud – I mean, non-pure-bloods."

"What about Potter?"

Angelina furrowed her brow at her contemporary's suggestion, but it was the Hufflepuff prefect who spoke. "He nearly died too!"

"No," corrected the Ravenclaw with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "I meant wouldn't Harry Potter be the obvious target? Couldn't it have been You-Know-Who trying to kill him? Wouldn't be the first time, right?"

"And it was the Snitch that exploded," added her fellow Ravenclaw with an assertive nod.

With almost all of the other prefects cleared out of the room, it became difficult for Draco, Hermione, and Ron to remain behind without making it obvious that they were listening in, so Hermione took the two boys by the elbows and dragged them into the hallway.

"I don't think we'll learn anything we don't already know," she said as they walked. Up ahead of them, Luna stood waiting – which surprised Hermione so much, she dropped both Draco and Ron's arms, and ran forward. She enveloped the slighter Ravenclaw in a hug, speaking words neither of the boys could hear.

"How are you?" Draco asked, taking his turn to hug Luna as well. He waited while she and Ron hugged, their embrace lengthier than the others.

"Oh, you know," she replied quietly, with none of her typical brightness. Without answering, she extended her hands, presenting them with three friendship bracelets. "Sorry I haven't given them to you until now," she said. "Happy Christmas." There were two in the colours of Gryffindor and one of Slytherin; a charm with their initials was woven into each bracelet.

"Luna, they're beautiful," breathed Hermione. A small smile passed on Luna's lips as each of them thanked her. She helped Hermione first, demonstrating how to properly secure it. In doing so, her sleeve fell back slightly, and Draco noted that Luna wore two bracelets herself – one blue and silver, and the other red and gold.

"I never had the chance to give it to her," said Luna, noting where Draco's gaze had fallen. She helped Ron next, and without looking at him, she asked, "Would you like it, Ron? She's your sister…"

After she had fastened his bracelet, Ron took Luna's hands in his and shook his head. "You're her best friend," he said with a gentle smile. "I can't think of a better person to keep it for her."

Hermione put Draco's bracelet on for him, afterward noting, "I never thought you'd be one for accessorizing, but it looks rather good on you, doesn't it?"

"Mr Malfoy wore quite a few pieces," recalled Luna, a slight cheeriness to her voice. "They looked good on him as well."

* * *

The four walked together until they had to part ways to their respective common rooms. But upon returning to his own, Draco was greeted by his Head of House, and brought into yet another meeting.

"You are required to take additional classes," Professor Snape informed him immediately after shutting the door to his office. "And before you gripe, let me make it clear that these lessons are _not_ optional, and the terms are _non_ -negotiable."

"Have I done something wrong, Professor?" Draco inquired, folding his arms with a grimace.

The Potions Master considered his student a moment before answering. "Perhaps you have, Draco. It is my experience that 'right' and 'wrong' often result in punishment of some form." The Professor swept around the perimeter of the room, coming to sit behind his desk. "Now, am I correct in presuming that you were taught a basic form of Occlumency in your youth?" He gestured to the seat opposite him, and Draco sat.

"Father taught me how to block my mind," he said, his brow wrinkling slightly as he recalled the memory. He had been young – barely seven, and his father had been ruthless, demanding such a complex thing from someone who hadn't even shown obvious signs of magical capability. But he had insisted that it was necessary in maintaining the integrity and nobility of their family. "It was an exercise I was … _encouraged_ to perform routinely."

Snape nodded with a vague boredom, as if Draco were sharing information he hadn't been asked to. "Well, the Headmaster wishes for you to learn the technique properly and in-depth, as well as its partner spell, Legilimency. As one of my students, I expect you to easily grasp and excel at both."

"Aren't those really complicated skills?"

The Professor reached for a scroll at the end of his table, unrolling it until it covered the entire surface; from what Draco could tell of the inconsistent and sometimes miniscule scrawling, it was a very old, and very convoluted potions formula. "They are both particularly complex, with devastating repercussions upon inaccurate execution. Will that be a problem?"

Understanding he was being dismissed without further discussion, Draco rose to his feet. "No, Professor. I'll do my best."

"This goes beyond schooling, Draco," Professor Snape said, only glancing up from the scroll momentarily at his pupil.

Draco nodded. "I won't let you down, Professor."


	49. Part 49

Draco pressed the three Galleon coins into Dobby's outstretched hand, and with that, their contract was terminated.

"Congratulations, Dobby," said Draco with a genuine smile.

"Thank you," replied Dobby, tugging on his ears happily. The gold reflected off the welling tears in his large, bulbous eyes. He wiped them on the sleeve of the garish sweater he was wearing. "Thank you, Young Master Draco!"

"Not 'Young Master', anymore," corrected Draco with a slight but friendly frown. "Just … Draco, I suppose."

"Like Harry Potter!" chimed the free-elf cheerfully.

"I suppose," repeated Draco uncomfortably.

The Weasley Twins stepped up, each standing on either side of Dobby. "We're your Masters now," said Fred, thumping a fist on his chest. George clapped Dobby on the back, causing the small elf to wheeze.

" _Not_ Master." It was Hermione this time, and she spoke with a more severe tone than Draco had. "You're his _employer_.  
There's a huge difference between those two terms, and it's imperative that we use the correct one when addressing the relationship between house-elves and their respective _employers_." She tapped pointedly at the S.P.E.W. badge on her chest.

"Except they're not all employers, are they?" mused Luna out loud, snacking on a biscuit with a circle of raspberry jam in the centre. "Most elves still belong to families, don't they?"

"And they're not exactly pleased to have it any other way," added Ron.

"Well: all economic, social, and cultural rights movements begin somewhere," said Hermione with finality.

George threw his open hand against Hermione's back with as much enthusiasm as he had with Dobby. "Glad to be a pioneer in this movement of yours, Granger," he said. "Couldn't be a better time too with the business skyrocketing the way it is. Cheap labour in the form of a hard-working house-elf is genius."

"The way of the future," added Fred with a grandiose gesture.

"Yes, well, regarding Dobby's pay –"

"Ah, ah, ah," interjected George, waving a finger in Hermione's face. "That's confidential; between employer and employee. Economic, social, cultural rights, and all that. Can't divulge nor discuss matters of such sensitive nature with outside parties, now can we?" He threw a wink at Dobby, causing the elf a fit of giggles.

"That would be wrong," agreed Fred, nodding his head, causing the outlandish hat he wore to tip over his eyes. "But rest assured you Spirted SPEWers –"

"That's S.P.E –"

"– that Dobby the free-elf will certainly receive better wages and benefits from _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ than his last, stingy, tight-pocketed _employer_."

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed, turning his attention away from the tray of biscuits and tea. "I merely complied with the demands the elf made; I might have paid him more if he'd asked for it."

Fred nodded as if consoling the younger man. "Dobby must have known that the Malfoys aren't as rich as us Weasleys," he commented with a sorrowful façade. He pulled a silk handkerchief from the inside of his jacket, holding it so the monogramed initials 'F.W.' were plain for everyone to see as he dabbed the corners of his eyes. "What a kind, kind little elf."

To the side, Dobby bobbed his head along to Fred's words, as if they were true. Draco opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself, emitting a loud, exasperated sigh instead. There was no fighting the Twins when they were in a good mood. And truthfully, he was rather happy to be part of the festivities.

"I'm surprised Theodore isn't here," commented Ron, sidling up next to Draco at the refreshments table. "Being a business partner and all."

"He said he's more of a silent partner, whereas your brothers are the managing partners, and are welcome to do as they please, so long as Theo gets his profits." He threw a nod in the direction of the Twins. "Think you'll join in their venture? Two locations with plenty of potential for future expansion; Fred might be right: the Weasleys might end up richer than any other Wizarding family."

Ron smiled. "It's not about the money for those two," he said. "Well, not _all_ about the money. But at any rate, I've got something else in mind." Without elaborating on what this might be, he squeezed Draco's shoulder and walked off, joining Harry, who was sitting on the couch, talking to Lee Jordan.

"I cannot believe no one else is wearing their badge!" complained Hermione, slamming into Draco's side. She glared up at her boyfriend, her angry stare darting between his face and badge-less chest.

"It didn't match my vest," Draco said slowly. He raised his arms to lightly – tentatively – rest his hands on her shoulders. When she didn't pull away, he relaxed a little. "We all know you're the reason behind this major improvement in Elf Rights," he assured her. "You and your brilliant –"

"Yes, well, not really. Everyone thinks you're the original cog who got things moving, forming a paid contract with Dobby – _and_ Winky."

"And I was inspired by –"

"And can you believe the Daily Prophet actually _declined_ my offer to submit a detailed article about this ground-breaking event? I mean, I understand it's not exactly matching with current headlines – So-and-So Has Been Found Dead, or So-and-So Has Gone Missing, or Dumbledore This, and Voldemort That; I mean I could have thrown Harry's name into the mix, but then it would have ended up in the celebrity gossip section, and completely degraded the significance of this momentous occasion."

Draco nodded several times, hoping this meagre action would show Hermione his support. "Anyway, I thought this was rather rubbish, so I contacted the Chief Editor and guess what _he_ said?"

"Umm…"

"He said that one oddball elf working for money wasn't news. He said – and I quote – _'Why don't you go change a law or something, Miss Granger; now that would be something worth reporting.'_ " Hermione propped her hands on her hips and glared out at the distance as a small smile formed on her lips. "Well, you know what, that's exactly what I'm going to do, and when I do it, the Daily Prophet is going to be the last publication that hears about it."

"The Quibbler would gladly spare some space for that," said Luna helpfully. "It'll be a nice follow-up to the poem I've written about Dobby's new job; Dad will be printing it in the next edition."

Hermione gave the Ravenclaw a strained sort of sideways smile before excusing herself. "Don't mind her, Luna," excused Draco on his girlfriend's behalf. He considered his words before continuing. "It just … vexes her that the Wizarding community isn't taking this issue as seriously as her passion feels it warrants. I think she'd actually be delighted to be featured in The Quibbler again."

Luna picked up a cup of cider from the table. "Oh, I don't know about _feature_ ," she said, taking a small sip. "But we'll see how it goes first."

* * *

"Well, that was quite a way to spend our day off at Hogsmeade," Ron said as he wrapped his scarf around and pulled on his mitts. He shivered as a cold wind blew over their small group.

"Your brothers really know how to throw a party," commented Luna, the tip of her pale nose already red with chill. She tugged on the flaps of her over-sized, furry hat, causing the brim to fall over her eyes.

"You're going to trip and fall like that," chided Harry, stopping to adjust the small Ravenclaw's large hat, and brush her bangs from her face.

"Couldn't we just grab a carriage back to the school gates?" suggested Draco, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket. Hermione clung to his side for warmth; the wind blew her hair wildly into both their faces. "Next year, for Christmas, you're getting a hat," Draco groaned, taking his hand out in an attempt to smooth out her hair. "One that's charmed to stay on your head and keep your hair in order." Hermione laughed as Draco settled on tying his scarf over her head. "So, friends: a carriage?"

"If you're paying," shouted Ron as another gust pushed everyone a few steps down the road. "And if we can even find one."

"Okay, well you lot find the carriage while I go make a withdrawal at Gringotts." He hurried off with a wave at the group making for the large, brass-handled, glass doors of the Wizarding Bank. It wasn't as grand as the central branch in Diagon Alley, but it was no less impressive: marble walls and marble floors greeted Draco; it might have appeared cold to some, but such expensive details and fine craftsmanship made Draco feel right at home. He filled out a withdrawal slip and marched straight to the next available goblin, handing both the slip and his wand for inspection. The goblin studied the wand thoroughly, casting a bored glance at Draco every now and then. When he was satisfied, he observed his withdrawal request.

"Denied," the goblin said at last, stamping the slip with a bit more flourish than Draco liked. He turned his head slightly to take note of the other patrons in the bank at that moment.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Draco, presuming the goblin had made a mistake – for he _must_ have made a mistake.

"Withdrawal denied," repeated the goblin.

"For what reason?"

The goblin's beady eyes narrowed disdainfully. "Insufficient funds."

"In – Insufficient!? Do you know who _I am_?" exclaimed Draco, no longer caring who might hear him. He reached across the marble counter to grab the withdrawal slip. "My family's account has a hundred times – a thousand times – _a hundred thousand_ times more than _this_."

The goblin nodded, as if he were deciding whether or not to have peas served with his lunch. "Yes, yes," he said, the slightest tinge of approval in his voice. "But none of it is accessible, and therefore, your withdrawal request is denied." The goblin snapped and the slip flew from Draco's hand back to his, and he promptly filed it with his other papers. He stared at Draco a moment longer before clasping his spindly fingers together, indicating their transaction was over.

"I'd like to speak with your manager," demanded Draco.

The branch manager was a tall, very chubby Wizard, with dark eyes, and neat, shoulder-length brown hair. He was pleased to meet Draco, being familiar with the family name of Malfoy (as any banker should), and offered him tea and an assortment of biscuits and chocolates – all of which Draco turned down on account of time.

"I'm afraid, due to the outcome of your father's recent trial, the family's assets have all been frozen," explained the manager, after they had taken a seat in his office. He spoke matter-of-factly, which Draco didn't like, mostly because it seemed to leave little room for negotiation.

"What about my mother's reserve?" he inquired. "She had inherited some wealth from the Black Family which was kept separate."

"Yes, yes," the branch manager said, flipping deftly through the large file of papers on his desk. "But it seems… Well, your mother, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, hasn't been into a branch recently to activate this reserve, so while you're entitled to the funds on paper, it's inaccessible as well."

"What options are available to me, then?"

The branch manager closed the file and clasped his hands together, much like the goblin earlier, which made Draco wonder who was mimicking whom. "Well, son – and I advise this to most young Wizards and Witches – you should consider starting your own account, and when the family funds are released – and I'm sure they will be soon – put some of your allowance aside into this separate account, for rainy day emergencies. Now, you're a little too young for credit, but based on your family's history, I think – as manager – I can make a small exception." The goblin who denied Draco's withdrawal earlier knocked at the door and the manager waved him in; he was handed Draco's withdrawal slip. "I would be pleased to approve a small loan – interest free – for this amount to be repaid in the future, when things settle for your family." With a smile, the bank manager went to scribbling on the back of the slip; when he was done, he passed it to Draco to read. It was a simple contract, very concise, with no strings attached. "You just need to sign," said the bank manager, offering Draco a feathered quill. Draco read the contract three times before signing. The goblin took the slip afterward and put his own mark on it, then hurried out of the office.

"Thank you," said Draco, after the goblin had left.

"Oh, you're most welcome," replied the bank manager, standing up to shake Draco's hand. He also patted him on the shoulder several times in a friendly manner. "Smeltham will just be a moment with your money – ah, here he comes now." The goblin, Smeltham, knocked once more on the office door, and once allowed entry, handed Draco a handful of coins, which, after verifying, offered a small velvet purse to hold them. The branch manager then walked Draco to the front door, shook his hand once more, and pat him on the back a few more times. Draco thanked the branch manager again, and left with the promise to return to open his first and own bank account at his earliest convenience.

* * *

"That took you forever," complained Ron as they all climbed into the carriage. "For a moment, we were worried something had happened to you."

"I was made to wait," Draco said with an air of impatience. "The branch manager wanted to speak with me."

"Really?" asked Luna, who seemed to be the only one impressed by this. "Dad always wants to meet with our branch manager, but he's never got time for him."

"Well, I am a Malfoy. The good man just wanted to shake hands since my family doesn't frequent this location. Despite the inconvenience, it was good on his part, establishing the relationship; I'll not forget him."

"Right, well, _Malfoy_ , while you were having tea with the manager, we were freezing so badly, _I_ decided to front the cost of the carriage – and we would've left you behind if not for Hermione." Harry folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, his lips twisted into a small smile. Next to him, Ron also crossed his arms, elbowing his best friend as he did.

"Think I should've gone into the bank too to shake some hands. The name Weasley is soon going to have more wallop than Malfoy _or_ Potter." The boys fell into jostling each other playfully until they got back to school, where, after the security checks, went their separate ways.

"I'm going to find Sirius and Remus," said Harry, turning in the direction of the teacher's offices. "You're all welcome to join, I think," he added, furrowing his brow slightly, as if he weren't sure.

"I've got nowhere else to be," said Ron with a shrug. They looked at the others.

"I've got a mountain of homework to do still," said Hermione, gesturing with her arms to illustrate the enormity of her workload. No one doubted her.

Luna stared back with a dreamy look. "I think I'd prefer a nap before dinner time."

"I guess I can come with you boys to the teacher's area; I've got to find Professor Snape myself," said Draco, taking a couple of steps toward Harry and Ron. Hermione caught his hand before they parted.

"Are you sure everything is okay?" she asked in a whisper.

Draco smiled and kissed her. "Everything is fine. You have nothing to worry about – other than all that work you've yet to complete, lest you fall from high standing, or maybe even fail sixth year." She knocked him in the ribs for that comment, but placed a quick kiss on his cheek before leaving.

The three boys chatted about the Twins' new line of products – the cleverness of the spells and the exorbitant prices they were charging – until halfway to their destination, when Ron asked Draco, "So, we were wondering, what happened to you over the holiday?"

"Not sure what you mean," replied Draco, cautious to remain neutral in his tone.

"Well, there was that one day, after Theodore was allowed to visit, that you went off with Bill and Charlie somewhere. Then Mum and Dad booted the rest of us out of the house to Sirius's place for a 'surprise sleepover', but when we got back, it was like they'd had a bad fight." The red-haired boy tilted his head in Draco's direction. "Still not sure what I mean?" When Draco remained silent, Ron stopped walking altogether, causing the other two boys to pause as well. "Don't you think there's too many secrets between us?" he said suddenly. Draco and Harry exchanged wary glances, knowing this was true.

"But what are we to do?" asked Draco in turn, and he meant it sincerely. "Our hands are tied by forces greater than the thin thread of trust we share." Harry's silence was response enough to indicate he felt similarly.

"Don't you think … I don't know. Don't you think it makes things worse though? Between us? We're supposed to work together and look out for each other; we're supposed to have each other's backs, but how can we when we don't even know what's really going on with each other anymore?"

"You do have a point, Ron," agreed Harry, though with some hesitation.

"Got a brilliant solution then?"

Ron shuffled his feet, shifting his weight. "No, not really," he answered uncomfortably. "But… It's just that… There's a lot going on, and so many things we're not supposed to tell each other, and it feels like it's getting bad, because I want to be able to trust and talk to my mates."

"What if you learn something that makes you angry?" It was Harry who asked the question, but Draco was thinking the exact same thing.

"Then," answered Ron, "I'll be angry. And you'll be angry, Harry, or you, Draco, but at least we'll know we can trust each other."

It was more than a measure of sentimental, and a fair share of school-boy hopefulness, but there was something to Ron's words that made Draco want to do it – to open up and be transparent with others who would be equally honest with him. But it also raised some concerns: how much would he have to share, and how much would they actually share with him? Did they really trust him, or was this a trick? Was he allowed to retain information that wasn't his to tell?

"Give us some time to think on it, Ronald," said Draco, throwing an arm over the taller boy's shoulders. He took a chance and draped his other arm over Harry's shoulders, finding that the other boy smiled at the gesture. The boys fell into a light-hearted and warm laugh before they too split ways.

* * *

Professor Snape assisted Draco in making a 'telephone call' to his Aunt Andromeda's residence in order to speak with his mother. He was assured this was the most secure method of communication.

"Cissy, the phone is for you!" Andromeda could be heard saying on the other side. There was some noise – a shuffling and some clunking, before Draco heard his aunt's voice again, but this time, it sounded a bit far away. "Not like that," she laughed. "You listen on that side and speak on the other!"

"I swear, Andromeda, you did that on purpose!" shouted Narcissa in return. "Hello? Draco?"

"Yes, Mother, it's me."

"Is everything alright, sweetheart? It's unusual for you to contact me like this."

"Yes, well, it's something of a rather urgent nature. You see, I was in the bank in Hogsmeade…"

Draco trailed off, but his mother immediately understood. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I haven't exactly been allowed to leave the house, as you know, but I did receive a letter from our lawyer about your father's trial. I promise I'll have things sorted soon, Draco. Just… leave it me – leave it to your mother – and I'll figure something out." There was a pause before she quickly added, "No need to tell anyone either. It's just a momentary blip; it'll be fixed before you know it. Do you need money now? I can send something to you if you require it."

Draco assured his mother that wouldn't be necessary. He explained he'd used the last of his Galleons paying out Dobby's contract, as the elf had found new employment. His mother seemed pleased to hear this. "He was never really any good," she said, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes. "I've never forgiven your grandfather for taking Dobby's mother with him and leaving us with that incompetent… What about the other one following you around – the female elf?"

"She's still working for me, I suppose," he answered. Winky actually spent more time at the Burrow than she did minding him, which was just fine with Draco. If ever someone _deserved_ the assistance of a house-elf, he thought it was Mrs Weasley.

"Oh, that's good. Now, she seems lovely – she belonged to the Crouch family before, if I recall correctly."

Draco nodded, forgetting that his mother couldn't see him. Professor Snape had begun to glare at him as their conversation had clearly strayed from the "urgent business" he had used as pretense for the call. "Look, Mum, I've got to go. I was only allowed to speak with you shortly, and about the bank thing."

"Sorry, Draco, did you say something? Your aunt over here thought it would be _hilarious_ to –" a loud ruffling sound cut her off, and the next thing Draco heard was his mother shouting (again, sounding far away), "I swear I'll hex you Andromeda!"

"Mum?" Draco repeated, over and over until he regained his mother's attention. "I have to go," he said very slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Oh, that's right. I'm glad to have heard your voice though. I'll fix the bank problem soon, I promise. And I'll keep sending you letters – you have been receiving my letters, haven't you?"

Again, Draco nodded, but this time remembered. "Yes, Mother, I have been. Thank you. And you've been receiving mine?"

"Yes, sweetheart. It's what I look forward to most every month. Be strong, and be smart, Draco. Mummy loves you. And I _will_ fix this."


	50. Part 50

**Author's Note: I apologize for my absence.**

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy had never been to the Headmaster's office before – not for discipline, nor on merit. During her time as a student, Albus Dumbledore had been Professor of Transfiguration before his appointment to Headmaster; admittedly, he had been an excellent instructor: meticulous and thorough, but also kind, giving _all_ his students equal, dedicated attention, ensuring they understood the principles as well as the practice.

The door opened with a gush of cool air as the Headmaster entered. With an involuntary tightness in her stomach, Narcissa rose to her feet – out of formal respect, waiting until the old Wizard beckoned her to sit once more.

"Forgive the wait, Narcissa," he said, taking off his cap and setting it on a stand next to his desk. Before taking his seat, the Headmaster walked to a blackboard where he picked up a stubble of chalk. "Let's have some tea, shall we?" He wrote out a menu of more than just tea, including macarons – a French confection Narcissa was admittedly fond of. When he was done, he replaced the chalk on the ledge, and the entire board was magically wiped clean. "It'll be along shortly," said the Headmaster, finally taking his seat. "But in the meantime, may I offer you a piece of gum?" From one of his drawers, he retrieved a box containing a surprising quantity of multi-coloured spheres, each larger than a grape; they appeared to be coated in sugar.

"Er, no, thank you," replied Narcissa, politely. She watched as the Headmaster picked a bright yellow piece and popped it into his mouth. Almost instantly, he began choking.

" _Aargh!_ " he cried, his face scrunching up in reaction.

"Are you all right, Professor?" she asked, rising from her seat with alarm. Tears were starting to form in the old man's eyes. If he died now, Narcissa would easily be marked his killer. _'A set up!'_ she thought to herself as the Headmaster made a gagging noise. _'I've been framed!'_

But even as she thought this, Dumbledore gave the candy a few hearty chews and relaxed. "I'm quite all right," he said at last. "These are _sour_ candies – 'Tear Jerkers', they're called," he explained with a slight smile – followed by a grimace. "Aptly named, I might note," he wheezed.

Just as his menu request had magically disappeared, a tray laden with food suddenly and magically appeared, and Narcissa found herself pouring the Headmaster a cup of tea, after insisting he spit out the gum. He complied, though somewhat grudgingly. "There are but a few matters I would like to discuss with you today," said Narcissa, regaining her composure. "First is the current living arrangements for my son and myself."

"Are things not well with Andromeda?" Dumbledore inquired.

"It is not a matter of things being 'well', Headmaster, but had I known that she and her husband were sympathizers of your Order of the Phoenix, I would have chosen a more suitable refuge."

The Headmaster peered at Narcissa over the rim of his teacup. "Perhaps, if you extended your definition of 'family' to include your sister, you might have learned, beforehand, that your niece is an Auror."

Narcissa was about to argue that working for the Ministry meant little – she knew how deep the corruption and betrayal ran – but on second thought, the Aurors had ever been against Dark Wizards, near infallibly so; she recalled of the First Wizarding War, how many Aurors were affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix then as well. The Headmaster was right, she should have known better, but she wasn't about to admit to it.

"You may feel that I am safe with Andromeda," she continued, "but you should not presume that I have no alternative places of hiding, where both Draco and I would be equally safe – perhaps even safer."

The Headmaster took a slow drink of tea before carefully replacing his cup. "I assure you, Narcissa, that you _are_ safer with Andromeda and Ted – and the only place you could be safer still, is here at Hogwarts, with your son. Anywhere else you and Lucius have fashioned a safe haven would be discovered by your _other_ sister, and I don't believe she would extend to you the same standard of hospitality."

Narcissa didn't necessarily disagree with the Headmaster – Draco had told her everything that had transpired at the Department of Mysteries that evening – but still she pressed her lips together and spoke in defense of her _other_ sister. "Bellatrix would never harm me – or Draco," she added, though she wasn't entirely sure. According to her son, Bellatrix _had_ tried to kill him.

Professor Dumbledore stared at Narcissa a long while before speaking. "It was not loyalty that drove Lucius to Voldemort's side the night of his return," he said. "And it was not devotion that inspired him to lead that particular mission at the Ministry. But rather fear."

Narcissa stiffened. "Are you calling my husband a coward?"

"Certainly not," Dumbledore replied with the smallest of smiles. "Lucius Malfoy has never been the type to place himself in the path of danger. But, for the sake of those we _are_ loyal and devoted to – for fear of what may happen to those whom we _love_ , a man or woman may do anything. I suspect, after rejoining the Death Eaters upon Voldemort's return, Lucius's exuberance turned to fear for your family and for Draco's future. He took a calculated risk that night, Narcissa, and whether or not Lucius would count it successful, your family is safe, and that is something – something you should not seek to undo."

"If it is by my husband's courage that we are safe," said Narcissa, "then should it not be _my_ decision, as Draco's mother, how best to protect him?" She pressed her hands against the wood of the desk, leaning forward. "It is not up to the school _who_ should look after _my_ son."

"And what has Draco told you in his letters?"

"That he misses home," answered Narcissa.

Dumbledore's expression did not change. "And of his hosts?"

Narcissa held the Headmaster's gaze. "My son misses his home," she repeated firmly.

For a moment, no one moved, but eventually, the Headmaster sighed, rolling his eyes imperceptibly. He picked a biscuit from the tray. "Malfoy Manor has been appropriated by Death Eaters," he informed her. "They have selected it to be one of their bases of operation."

This was news to Narcissa. "What?" she said, though she had heard the Headmaster's words clearly. She felt a bubble of indignation rising inside her. "How? There are wards and charms, ancient spells bound by blood and sacrifice." But even as she said it she knew: the pure blood circle was small; in their ignorance and arrogance, they would have used similar if not the same spells of protection. She suppressed a shudder of rage as she thought of the intruders tracking mud through her home, using the crystal from her dowry, and resting their feet on the furniture. But a deeper anger burned against her sister; if Death Eaters had taken Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix had surely led the way. She took a moment – and a deep breath – to compose herself. "At least allow me my wand, and a visit to the bank, so that I may provide my son the standard of living he is accustomed to," she said next, moving on. There was no need for further elaboration; she knew the Headmaster knew her situation.

"I have no authority over the –"

"Do you not still hold a seat on the Wizengamot?"

"Once the court has ruled, the other departments are responsible in enforcing the minor details of the proceedings, such as matters of finance and estate."

"Can you not make an exception?"

"It is not up to me to grant exceptions –"

"Well, could you ask a favour then? Surely you must have some influence over –"

" _Narcissa._ " The Headmaster had not raised his voice, but his tone commanded uninterrupted silence. Narcissa sat back in her seat quietly, feeling very much like a child again. "I have one very simple solution that will address _all_ your concerns."

* * *

When Narcissa's meeting with the Headmaster was concluded, her own niece was on hand to escort her.

"You _do_ know what he is, don't you?" she said to the young witch as they walked through the corridor. Professor Dumbledore had agreed to allow Narcissa a short, monitored visit with her son before departing, and upon passing the stone gargoyle, she had seen them together. "He tutored Draco for a summer; he's brilliant, but all werewolves are dangerous, and not to be trusted. And they certainly aren't creatures you should be _romantic_ with."

"Used, but not trusted, and definitely not marriage material. Excellent advice," Nymphadora replied, bobbing her head. She glanced back with a sideways sort of smile. "I am eternally grateful for that bit of wisdom."

Narcissa sniffed scornfully. "Your grandmother would turn in her grave if she knew."

"Which grandmum? 'Cause dad's mum thinks he's rather charming – but you see, Remus gets along rather well with old people; I'm not entirely sure why." The younger witch slowed her step until she matched Narcissa's regal stride. "And _my_ mum's been to your mum's grave; delivered the message herself." She smiled. "I wonder if she did roll over."

"You have no respect for tradition."

"Bigotry isn't considered tradition, Auntie Ciss," said Nymphadora, picking up her pace once more. "And if you keep walking like you've a stick up your arse, you'll miss out on seeing your son."

When Narcissa told Draco what Nymphadora had said to her, he laughed. "Draco, that is not funny," she chided him. "It's rude and disrespectful."

"Dora's a lovely person, really. She just gets very defensive when … well, I can't say I blame her; I get the same way when the chaps called Hermione anything less than a proper witch. They don't anymore, mind you; they know better."

Narcissa wanted to gnaw on her lip, but settled for pressing them tightly together. "Is that right," she murmured as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress. She didn't dare think what her mother would say about her own son's choice for a girlfriend. But, she wasn't about to waste what precious little time she had with him, talking about petty things, like his non-pure blood witch friend. "So, your marks are good, and I'm so proud of you, sweetheart!"

"Mother, I know why you've come to Hogwarts, and I've been thinking about it, and perhaps your being at Aunt Andromeda's really is for the best."

Narcissa's smile faltered. "Draco… I thought you missed home."

"I do, but things aren't the same as before – plus the mansion's been overrun by Death Eaters. And you _know_ what they're looking for – and when they _don't_ find it, they're going to be furious – _He's_ going to be furious. Dad wants us to be safe, and The Order –"

"Draco, stop. Stop talking about these things! You're starting sound like your father, and you're only a _boy_."

"Mum, I'm going to be seventeen, I'm not –"

" _You are still a child,_ " Narcissa asserted, her smile disappearing altogether. "You are my child, and I'll not have you worrying about these sort of things." She reached across and brushed back her son's hair; it was still short, but starting to look a bit more like it used to.

"Mum," Draco said slowly, looking at her very seriously. "Your attempt to shelter me is not the same as protecting me. And there are some things that I have to decide for myself."

They spent the remainder of their time discussing inconsequential matters, and with every change of subject, Narcissa wished she'd had her wand so she could peer into her son's mind to see what he wasn't telling her. When their time was up, Draco left after giving her a tight hug; he seemed taller than she remembered, though she couldn't be sure, as she always thought of him as just a little boy.

She was returned to the Tonks's residence via Port Key.

"What would the Ministry think, if they found out you were using illegal Port Keys," she said to her niece as the younger witch set the wicker basket they had used to transport on fire. Nymphadora didn't respond, but her eyes twinkled in the light of the flickering flames, and her hair colour changed from bright red to a gradient of neon pink.

"Mum! Dad! We're back," she shouted, tossing her cloak on a stand before making her way to the kitchen. Down the hall, Narcissa's brother-in-law, Edward "Ted" Tonks, peeked around the corner.

"Welcome back," he said cheerfully, as his daughter gave him a big kiss on the cheek. He glanced back at Narcissa. "Well. You look like you could use a drink. Come on, and I'll pour you a glass of wine." He beckoned to her quickly before disappearing back into the kitchen. Chatter and laughter drifted over Narcissa as she took a moment to lean against the wall. Things had not gone at all how she'd intended. Slowly, she ambled into the kitchen. As much as she wanted to be alone, she wanted that drink more.

"And here we go," Ted said, placing the glass on the table in front of Narcissa. She barely looked at it before tipping it back into her mouth. "And, uh, here we go again," mused Ted, refilling her glass.

"Things not go your way, Cissy?" queried her sister. Despite the mockery in her tone, Andromeda wrapped one hand around Narcissa's arm, squeezing it in a loving manner.

"At least you got to see Draco," noted Nymphadora. She was reading the _Daily Prophet_ while eating a piece of cake – both things floating in the air before her. With a flick of her wand, the page turned. "Umm, should we be concerned that the entire Hatton family is missing?" She flicked her wand several times more, turning the same few pages back and forth. "And why is this on page six?" Andromeda leaned over her daughter's shoulder, peering at the article.

"Oh, I think that's us," she said, giving Nymphadora a reassuring pat.

" _Think?_ " the young witch repeated skeptically. She studied the article again before closing the paper; it dropped to the table. "Why haven't I heard anything on it?"

"You're busy with a lot of things, Dory," explained her mother. "You can't know everything. Plus, you know, if someone gets caught, they –"

"Yeah, yeah," cut off Nymphadora, finishing her cake. She pushed back from the table, kissed both her parents, and left the room.

Her mother glanced at the dirty plate, still hanging in the air. "She's a bloody Auror but she can't even put her own dishes away." Ted picked up the paper, eyes glancing over the titles on the front. "So, Cissy, I take it you'll be staying with us a while longer then?"

Narcissa helped herself to more wine. "Well, Annie, I haven't much choice now, have I?" She lifted the glass to her lips and paused. "Actually, there is an alternative." She met her sister's eyes a moment. "The Headmaster offered me a job." Ted peered over the paper, looking surprised. "He said it was a simple solution to all my problems – or something like that." The room fell silent save the rustling of the newspaper.

"It seems a sensible suggestion," commented Ted, turning a page. "If you've an offer of employment, I can take a look at it for you if you'd like."

"I'm not entirely sure a … _Muggle_ lawyer could be helpful in this situation." She caught Andromeda's slightly arched eyebrow. "But, thank you," Narcissa added.

"Are you going to accept?" asked Andromeda, taking a seat at the table. "You would see Draco more, you'd be paid, and –" she smiled, "you'll be well protected."

"More protection I haven't asked for," quipped Narcissa. She smiled sarcastically. "Lovely."

"What would you be teaching?" asked Ted.

To her own surprise, Narcissa's smile softened. "The Headmaster has said, my favourite subject."


	51. Announcement

Author's Note:

For those of you still reading (just starting, catching up, or waiting for more) and somewhat enjoying this story, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. It was a story started on a whim, with no other purpose than to see if I could convincingly pair Hermione and Draco. I had intended to write the story "as is", changing only what their pairing would really affect, but as I wrote more and more, I began to pull ideas from my cloud of _Harry Potter_ thoughts and theories – and it slowly got out of hand. The story was no longer about Hermione and Draco, and I struggled to find moments to really put them together and develop their relationship. Making Draco a central character also meant building up the Slytherins, and with less written about them canonically, there was so much to work with – and so much to do! I didn't want to leave anyone out; I didn't want to overlook any opportunities to weave people into the greater storyline.

And there's that: The _Greater_ Storyline. At some point, after being encouraged to take an original twist on the general, actual story, I soon realized that there are so many … questions. Issues. Problems. There are more conversations carried across multiple platforms that address and discuss these questions, issues, and problems than I could ever read, and on some matters, it didn't feel right to simply assume a position and continue forth. Call it a lack of confidence.

 **So this story ends here, Friends.** Unfinished and inconclusive. I'm sorry. But here are a few things that I was going to try and work towards:

 **Narcissa Malfoy** becomes a Hogwarts Professor, teaching Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid (split years). She has a completely different approach from the half-giant, but is very good. For me, the change in Draco caused a change in his mother, and her priorities shifted as his did. Her time at Hogwarts leads to an attachment to the general student body, which lends to her fighting _for_ Hogwarts in the Battle of Hogwarts. Where she ultimately faces her older sister, Bellatrix.

 **Dumbledore** dies of the curse of the Horcrux (Marvolo Gaunt's Ring), oh, like, just before the end of summer 1997. And, to kind of reconcile Dumbledore's controversial behaviour (the most poignant comment I'd ever read regarding this was someone pointing out that there is _never_ a good reason to leave a child in an abusive home, that is, Harry with the Dursleys), I was going to write him a bit more like he was slowly succumbing to senility.

 **Vincent Crabbe** was given the task of assassinating Dumbledore since Draco was no longer in with the Death Eaters. It was also an act to bring together Voldemort et al. and this subversive group of Wizards and Witches who fell through the cracks of Wizarding Society. Dumbledore was a major figure in keeping things status quo, so it's understandable that both factors would want him gone. Colette was Vincent's tie-in to this group. When Crabbe fails, he can't face what he had tried to do, what his failure means, and kills himself.

 **Colette** 's background was that she (and an older brother) was born to magic, but for whatever reason, was overlooked in receiving a proper magical education at Hogwarts or any other school of witchcraft and wizardry. She eventually met people who were similar to her and through them/along with them learned magic – with stolen/contraband/black market wands. Honestly, it's my inclusion of Colette and the concept of those like her that pushed my story off the rails; the idea that people like this exist in the Wizarding _and_ Muggle communities means Revolution – which could mean Civil War. And either way, it would likely lead to a World War – involving magic.

 **Remus** lives and raises his son. **Tonks** , however, is killed. After giving birth to Teddy, she suffers postpartum depression and anxiety, and when the Battle of Hogwarts breaks, she haphazardly appears on the scene, looking for Remus. (She had been, of course, asked to stay home, where it was safe, with barriers and things set up to protect them, but she's not an Auror for nothing. She escaped, wanting to help, because while she struggled to grasp Motherhood, in her heart and soul she was an Auror.)

 **Sirius** remains standoff-ish for a couple of reasons but mostly because he's brooding over how and when he'll kill **Peter Pettigrew**. Remus has convinced him to hold off for the time being, given that more important things are happening, plus his commitment to protect Harry. Pettigrew is assigned a new task – like spying on the Muggle British Prime Minister – but eventually meets his demise … with **Snape** – who has harboured an equal (if not greater) desire to kill him.

 **Ted Tonks** does not die. Neither does/did **Regulus Black** – though he was in hiding. I hadn't decided if **Fred Weasley** would live… **Pansy Parkinson** was my example of a born and raised witch wanting to … no longer be one. She is also a survivor of self-harm/attempted suicide. **Neville** was my pacifist. **Ron** was going to grow up and become a Broommaker.

 **Theodore Nott** and his family were in possession of the Diadem of Ravenclaw (I had, in my mind, decided that his mother – whom I had named Catherine – was a Ravenclaw), and Theo would allow the Order of the Phoenix to have it. Actually, one of my most twisted ideas was to have Dumbledore sacrifice what was left of his life to revitalize the part of Voldemort's soul that resided in the Diadem – with the hope that Tom Riddle could be reborn of love and hope. The bit of Tom Riddle in the Diadem would have been around 18 or 19 years of age.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione went Horcrux hunting, we would have followed Draco through his Seventh Year at Hogwarts. He would have been made Head Boy.

And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the very bottom of my heart to Everyone who's read any part of this story. I really am sorry that it's not going to continue. I wish you all the very best in your reading and writing adventures!


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